


Sketches

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Erica Reyes, Alpha Isaac Lahey, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Fingering, Asexual!Peter, Blow Jobs, Blowjobs, Bottom!Peter, Butt Plugs, D/s, Daddy Kink, Destructive Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fantasy AU, Feminization, Fluff, Ghost Vernon Boyd, Hate Sex, Lingerie, M/M, Marking, Multi, Operas, Pegging, Polyamory, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spanking, Transgender Isaac, Transgender Kira, Underage Isaac Lahey, transphobic language, warnings tagged in chapter notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 77
Words: 52,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1492678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Teen Wolf drabbles previously posted on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stisaac

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: I don't deserve nice things.
> 
> Warnings: Isaac Lahey/Stiles Stilinski, destructive relationship

 

Isaac Lahey wasn’t a good person. Not like Scott.

He was too broken for that. He mostly considered himself a coward, when he considered himself at all.

Isaac knew it was his fault that Allison died. He’d put her in danger by loving her. Everyone he loved died. His family, Erica, and now Allison.

When the oni stabbed her, he’d been right there, but Isaac had not been enough to protect her. He couldn’t protect anyone.

And then Isaac had to stand there and listen to the woman he loved tell her ex that he, not Isaac - her boyfriend, was her eternal and forever love.

Isaac couldn’t blame her for not loving him. Its not like anyone else did.

No, Isaac Lahey did not deserve nice things.

-

Stiles Stilinski wasn’t a nice person. He was obnoxious about rubbing his intelligence in everyone’s face, and sarcastic way past the point where it could be called funny. Stiles was mean.  
And he was in love with Derek who wasn’t ever going to look at him.

Stiles was just as broken as Isaac was.

So it wasn’t that much of a surprise that one night their constant bickering turned into something else.

Stiles had made some crack about Isaac’s scarf wearing, about him being used to being in a freezer.

Isaac had grabbed the front of his shirt and shoved him against the wall, growling and threatening. Something in Stiles’s eyes had changed, some computation took place, and then his lips were on Isaac’s.

It took Isaac exactly three seconds to respond. No one had wanted him like that for a long time.

When they pulled apart from each other, the entire pack was watching them.

Except for Derek, who had left at some point.

Stiles never looked away from Isaac.

"Everyone needs to leave."

-

They become a thing. They still argue, even worse now that they’re discovering new weaknesses. They tear each other to pieces in public and then put each other back together behind closed doors.

It’s messy and it’s intense, and it’s the furthest thing from nice.

Because neither of them deserve nice things.


	2. Paralani

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Accidental Proposal
> 
> Warnings: Danny Mahealani/Deputy Parrish, Blowjobs

The first time Danny sees Deputy Parrish, he’s stumbling out of the Jungle, drunk off his ass.

He walks smack into him, head turned to call out a goodbye, and knocks himself a step backwards.

When Danny gets a good look at what he’s walked into…and the perfect ass framed by a uniform, he flashes his dimples.

“What the..Well, helllooo officer.”

The police officer turns around and he’s fucking _gorgeous_. And _not_ a regular. He’s a real damn cop.

“Actually, it’s _Deputy_ , kid. Deputy Parrish.”

Danny puts on his best charming smile and takes a step back. “My apologies, Deputy. Given the nature of the establishment, there tends to be a penchant for costuming.”

He thought he got that out pretty good, but the man’s gorgeous green eyes narrow.

“How much have you had to drink?” Parrish held out his hand. “I need to see your ID.”

Danny takes another step backward. “No need for that, I’m walking not driving.”

He’s not sure what else happens, because it gets blurry after that, but the next thing Danny knows, he’s being bent over the hood of the patrol car being cuffed, and not in the good way.

“Parrish!” That’s a voice Danny recognizes, but he’s not sure if it’s good or bad news.

“Stiles? What are you doing here?”

Stiles and Parrish must talk at length, but too quietly for him to hear because Danny kind of dozes off against the car.

Parrish wakes him up by hauling him upright and unlocking him. Danny turns around and tilts his head at the older man in confusion. The soft green eyes are kind.

“Stiles explained the situation.” He claps a hand on Danny’s shoulder. Danny doesn’t have a damned _clue_ what he’s talking about. “I’ve been there, kid. It’s not worth throwing your life away over.”

Danny manages a weak smile and nods. “Thank you, Deputy Parrish.”

He’s drunk enough that he can think of a hundred lines, but not drunk enough to press his luck. Danny just offers up his dimples again, sighing as they have absolutely no effect.

Stiles grabs him by the collar of his shirt and drags him away.

“I’m going to marry him.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever Danny. C’mon you can crash at my house.”

-

The second time, it’s at a crime scene, and Danny is the victim, clawed by one of the stupid werewolves that keep trying to take the town from the Hale pack.

“Why is it the Hale pack when it’s McCall’s now?” he says. Or tries to say. He doesn’t think he got the words out right, because the Deputy just shushes him and tells him Scott and Derek are fine.

Parrish must be very strong because he lifts Danny like he’s nothing, pressing his wadded up coat into Danny’s stomach.

Danny curls an arm around Parrish’s neck and mumbles. “I’m going to marry you.”

-

Parrish visits him in the hospital.

“How are ya, kid?”

“Annoyed. I worked very hard on those perfect abs.”

The Deputy’s eyes flick ever so briefly to Danny’s torso. Was that a hint of _interest_?

“Well,” he says at last, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, “It was nice of you to visit.”

Parrish smiles, and it everything Danny thought it would be and more.

“Least I could do for the man who proposed to me last night.”

He gives Danny a teasing wink and exits.

Danny buries his face in his hands.

-

When he gets out of the hospital, Danny brings a container of homemade peanut butter cookies to the station.

He bribed Stiles with a favor, as yet to be determined, which ought to frighten him more than it does, to find out what the Deputy’s favorite kind of cookies are.

Danny decides Stiles can have anything he wants the moment he sees the blissed out look on the Deputy’s face when he takes a bite.

“Mmph, oh these are amazing, marry me.”

Parrish freezes and blinks as he realizes what he said, and who he said it to, and Danny can’t help but laugh.

Danny grabs one of Parrish’s cards and writes his number on it.

-

“Jesus Christ, Danny, your _mouth_.”

It has taken Danny _months_ to get Parrish to this point, and he’s not sure if he’s going to get a second chance, so he’s using every trick he’s got.

He grabs a bottle and slicks up a finger, sliding it slowly inside the older man, crooking it to hit that sweet spot, while Danny deep throats his cock.

“Fuck, Danny, marry me.”

Danny barely hears him as Parrish’s hips stutter and then he presses forward, coming in Danny’s mouth.

But he thinks about it later on, when they’re sleepy and curled around each other in bed and he smiles and kisses the older man’s temple.

-

Danny thinks about it three years later, thinks about all the times that they’ve said those words.

He remembers and smiles as he looks down at the blonde deputy, on his knee in front of all of their friends, holding up a ring.

“Danny Mahealani, will you marry me?”

-

They get married in June, just them and the pack on the beach. (Stiles takes an online course to be certified to perform marriages.)

Chris and Peter grill for everyone, bickering the entire time.

It’s absolutely perfect.


	3. Sheriff/Melissa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: [This Post](http://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/83226280925/q-if-you-could-say-one-thing-to-your-character)
> 
> Warnings: Sheriff Stilinski/Melissa McCall

_Just ask her out already._

He’s sitting in his squad car talking to himself.

“Jesus, Stilinski, get yourself together.”

He checks himself in the mirror, but he looks like he always looks.

Old and boring, just an average middle-aged guy. _Good thing Stiles looks like his mother._

The Sheriff sighs and gets out of the car, hand curling around the cup of coffee.

Everyone likes coffee, right?

He goes into the hospital, nodding as acquaintances greet him.

Melissa isn’t at her desk. He’s asked if he wants her paged. Yeah, that doesn’t seem like a good idea.

“Nah, just brought coffee by. Happened to be in the neighborhood.” He smiles at the lady behind the desk, who just gives him a flat look.

His pager goes off and he checks it. Animal attack. He’s got to check it out.

The woman takes the coffee. “Want me to tell her you stopped by?”

He shakes his head after a second. “No big deal, just happened to be in the area.” _You said that already, idiot._

The Sheriff beats a hasty retreat. _That could have gone better._

His day gets worse. That goddamned McCall is at his crime scene. _Not only is he trying to get me fired, but he has to be tall and good looking._

The animal attack is just an animal attack, nothing supernatural, so the Sheriff heads back to the squad car.

Rafael climbs into his car. “I’ll be back at the station late this afternoon. I’m having lunch with Melissa.”

He feels his gut clench at the thought of them getting back together.

_What if it’s nothing?_

_What if it’s not?_

_-_

The next time he sees Melissa, they’re rushing people into the hospital after a massive freeway pileup, that _might_ have included their sons and co.

It’s not a good time to ask her out, but he can’t resist mentioning that Rafe talked about taking her to lunch.

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, he insisted, wanted to talk about Scott. Thinks he’s into drugs or something.” She whistles for an orderly. “Get this guy into OR 4.”

The Sheriff walks out of the hospital, feeling _far_ too cheerful for someone who has two fatalities and several serious injuries he has to explain.

-

He shows up at the McCall house with pizza about an hour after Melissa is supposed to be off shift. He figures it can be excused as a thank you for running interference with the hospital.

His son opens the door.

“Awesome, dad, thanks.” Stiles takes the pizza from him and slides it onto the kitchen table where he and Scott dig in.

The Sheriff looks around. “Rough day at the hospital,” he remarks casually.

Scott nods and answers with his mouth full of pizza. “Yeah, mom crashed already.”

The Sheriff goes home and has beer for dinner.

-

Melissa brings cupcakes by the station to say thank you for feeding the boys.

Stilinski is out on a call.

By the time he gets back, they’re gone.

“They were really good!”

“Thanks, Parrish.”

-

“Just ask her out already. Yeah right.”

He’s talking to himself again, this time sitting at one of the outside tables at the hamburger place in town.

“Ooh, who are you asking out?” Melissa slides into the seat across from him, all bright eyed and beautiful.

The Sheriff just blinks at her, too surprised to do anything but blurt it out. “You.”

She laughs like he’s made a joke. “Oh come on now, handsome man like you? Nah, you want someone young and pretty, who has all her shit together. Not an old, wrinkled single mom who has more gray hair than she has a right to.” She steals a curly fry from him and takes a bite of it thoughtfully. “That Linda that works at the library is single.”

The Sheriff gets stuck on _handsome_ for a good thirty seconds, then he shakes his head as he catches up with the conversation.

“I think you’re amazing. You’re smart – I’ve seen you keep up with doctors who have been around for decades, and I’ve always been impressed at how well you managed with just you and Scott.” He looks down. “Way better than I did with Stiles.”

Melissa smacks his hand. “Now don’t you talk like that. You’ve done just fine with him.”

He smiles tentatively up at her. “I think you’re beautiful.”

She blushes faintly and then steals another fry. “I think you have terrible taste in women.”

“Is that a no?”

Melissa points the fry at him. “You didn’t ask me a question, Sheriff.”

He laughs and tilts his head sideways. “Would you like to get coffee with me sometime?”

“Make it a steak dinner.”

The Sheriff grins. “It’s a date.”

“Good. Sunday?”

“7?”

Melissa nods and pats his hand. “I’ll see you then.”

The Sheriff watches her walk away, and then turns back to his burger with a smile.

He doesn’t see Stiles and Scott high-fiving each other in the parking lot.


	4. Paralani

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Blueberry Muffins
> 
> Warnings: Danny Mahealani/Deputy Parrish

“Who’s that?”

Stiles looks up from stringing the head of his lacrosse stick, and peers in the direction that Danny is looking.

“Dad’s new deputy. Surprised you haven’t seen him before.”

Danny’s still staring, and Stiles elbows him. “He’s _24_ , dude.”

Danny finally looks away and returns to getting his equipment together.

“What’s his name?”

“ _Deputy_ Parrish.”

“Seriously, Stiles?”

Stiles shrugs his bag over his shoulder. “Give it up, Danny.”

“Introduce me.”

“Danny, you are barely legal and after that game, you probably stink.”

Danny turns the big brown eyes and dimples on him.

“Jesus, put those away. You owe me a favor then.”

“Sure,” Danny shrugs and follows after Stiles.

“Hey dad,” Stiles gives his dad a hug.

“Parrish, hows it going.” The Deputy nods once. “Stiles.”

“Dad, you remember Danny? I’m gonna crash at his place this weekend.”

Danny darts a sharp look at Stiles, whose eyes are wide open with innocence.

“Parrish, Danny Mahealani.” The Deputy offers his hand and Danny takes it, flashing those dimples.

Stiles and his dad roll their eyes in unison.

“Māhealani.” Parrish repeats with the correct inflection. “Third night of the full moon. Interesting name.”

Everyone stares at him, and he smiles a bit sheepishly. “Languages are a bit of a hobby of mine.”

The Sheriff claps a hand on the Deputy’s shoulder. “Hokay. Time we got back to work.”

Parrish nods to the Sheriff’s son. “Stiles.”

He then turns to Danny. “It was nice to meet you, Danny. _A hui hou_.”

The two officers walk off and Stiles turns to Danny, who is looking poleaxed.

Stiles rolls his eyes and punches Danny’s shoulder. “So, what’s for dinner tonight?”

-

Six hours later Danny sees the Deputy again, only this time he’s helping Lydia drag a bleeding Stiles into the ER, and so he doesn’t really have time to chat.

“What happened?”

Danny can’t remember their story because _green eyes and uniform_.

Lydia covers, tells the officer whatever it is that they’re supposed to be lying about, and the man fucking _lifts_ Stiles in his arms.

Danny spends the next ten (okay thirty) minutes thinking about that strength holding him up against the wall, or pinning him to the mattress, and if he wasn’t in pain, Danny would have a situation on his hands.

Lydia heads home once Stiles is settled in his hospital room, but Danny has to stay to get checked out.

Turns out he has a cracked rib.

He’s absurdly grateful, because it gives him a chance to be shirtless when the Deputy comes to check on him.

Danny is 85% certain that sliding glance down to his bandages was the older man checking him out. “Just a hairline fracture. I’ve had worse.”

He shrugs into his shirt and tilts his head. “You going past Fifth? I could use a ride.”

Danny doesn’t _think_ he imagines a slight hint of color in the Deputy’s cheeks as the impact of the double entendre occurs to him.

“Sure, kid.”

Danny winces internally.

-

He manages to make the Deputy laugh twice, so Danny counts it as a win.

Parrish gives a low whistle when he sees the Porsche in Danny’s drive.

“Dad’s got nice wheels, man.”

Danny smirks. “That would be mine. Parents are in Hawai’i for the winter.”

He sends out a mental _thank you_ to Jackson as he climbs from the car.

“ _Mahalo nui loa_ , Deputy Parrish.”

Parrish smiles softly. “ _No’u ka hau’oli_.”

_It could be._ Danny heads to the front door.

He turns slightly as he unlocks the front door, and yes, Parrish _definitely_ was looking at his ass.

-

By the end of the week, Danny owes Stiles like twelve favors, but he knows everything there is to know about Deputy Parrish.

Except his first name.

Stiles refuses on grounds of not wanting anyone to know his first name either.

Danny casually drops by the station with blueberry muffins from Mrs. McCall.

(Scott had asked Stiles to take them, and _he_ had immediately called Danny.)

Of course he takes the Porsche.

His luck is with him because Parrish is just pulling in. Danny leans against his car and waits.

“Good morning, Deputy.”

“Morning, Danny. Whatcha got there?”

“Mrs. McCall asked me to drop these off. They’re blueberry muffins.”

“Oh, those are my favorite!” Danny acts like he didn’t know that already.

He steps forward to give Parrish the box, noticing that he’s got a couple of inches height on the older man. He can’t help but glance at the Deputy’s lips as he wonders what it would be like to kiss him.

Danny steps back before he does something stupid, and offers Parrish a smile. “I would have brought coffee, but I don’t know how you like it.”

Green eyes flick up at him, and Parrish smiles after just a heartbeat of hesitation. “Black, got used to it that way in the Army.”

And now Danny’s thinking about him in _that_ uniform. He needs to _leave_ like five minutes ago.

So he flashes a smile and opens the door to the Porsche. “I’ll remember next time.”

The Deputy hesitates a second, and then tilts his head. “I usually hit up that coffee place down the street on Saturday mornings after my run.”

Danny feels like he’s been sucker punched. He can’t breathe for five alarming heartbeats.

Then he smiles slowly at the older man. “Maybe I’ll see you there sometime.”


	5. Sterek - Sort of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Gravestone
> 
> Warnings: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Major Character Death (well he's already dead, you don't have to watch him die)

“It's just me this year.”

Stiles looks down at the gravestone, one finger reaching to trace the name engraved there.

“Allison went into labor last night, so Lydia and Scott have the twins, while she and Isaac are at the hospital.”

Stiles twists open the bottle of whiskey, taking a swig for himself, and then pours some at the base of the stone. He folds himself up to sit on the ground nearby.

“I wish you could see them. The twins I mean. I always thought you'd be great with kids. I wish-” He chokes off the words, gritting his teeth against the tears, the upswell of emotion that always came when he thought about what could have been.

Stiles is silent a long time after that, continuing to share the bottle with the grave as he gets lost in his thoughts.

“You'd be proud of Isaac. He turned out to be a really good dad.” Stiles chuckles a bit to himself. “He says that he had a great example...of what not to do.”

Another long silence as the bottle is finished off.

“Deaton's retiring this year. From the vet's office, I mean. There's no one left for him to be an Emissary for, obviously.”

Except Peter, but they don't talk about Peter.

“So, Scott's taking over the vet business, not that he isn't pretty much doing it all already. Lydia is leaving in a few weeks to do some research for her Doctorate. Isaac's still working for my dad, who refuses to retire until Melissa does, which will be never. Allison and her dad are still in the gun business.”

Stiles stands up, somewhat unsteadily, brushing himself off.

“Oh, and Jackson won. He's the Mayor of Beacon Hills now.”

Stiles shifts from foot to foot, tall frame no longer lanky and ungainly, but lithe and certain in its movements.

“I guess that's everything.” He takes a step back, finally letting a few tears spill. “I'll see you next year, Derek.”

Wiping his cheek with his sleeve in a movement reminiscent of the boy he had been, he turns and leaves.


	6. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Steter where the badtouch is from Stiles towards Peter (this one's for [Arabwel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Arabwel))
> 
> Warnings: Stiles Stilinski/Peter Hale, Rape/Non-Con

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Deaton shrugs calmly, in that maddening way he has. “That’s what the spell calls for. And not just any werewolf.”

Stiles arcs a brow, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“For this territory, it’s going to have to be a Hale.”

Stiles sighs and rubs his forehead. “And since Derek’s out of town until after the full moon…”

“That leaves Peter Hale.” Deaton finishes for him.

“Alright, Doc, I’m going to need some kanima venom, some wolfsbane, and a few other little odds and ends.”

-

If Peter is surprised by Stiles showing up on his doorstep, he doesn’t give any indication. He simply steps back and lets the boy in.

“So, fairies,” Stiles says as he goes right to Peter’s fridge and start rifling through it, after dropping his bookbag on the floor.

“Apparently.”

Stiles grabs a six pack of some sort of fancy, over-priced beer and sets it on the counter. He snorts at Peter’s raised eyebrow. “Not for me, dude, for you. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

Stiles grabs one and pops the top off, handing it to Peter before reaching for a coke and taking the top off. He takes a long drag, tilting his head back to expose his neck.

Peter distracts himself by turning away and absently sipping at the beer that was offered, just as Stiles had hoped.

He caps his drink and then heads to his back, pulling out six dusty tomes. “Alright, here’s everything Deaton had that referenced fairies. Get reading.”

Peter rolls his eyes and saunters over, settling his drink down on the coffee table. Stiles drops the books, raising a cloud of dust.

“Really, Stiles?” Peter coughs and waves the air, lifting his beer again to wash out his mouth. “Couldn’t have sent them gently down?”

“They slipped.” His eyes are innocent, tone guileless, but the heart skip tells Peter he’s lying. The wolf narrows his eyes a moment.

“Stiles, why are you here?”

The human knows that he’s been caught out, but he honestly hadn’t expected the ruse to last very long. Just long enough for him to get Peter to drink the potion.

“I’m here for you, Peter.” The amber gaze is pointed, sharp, and Peter can hear that it’s the truth.

He hesitates for a split second, thoughts racing as he considers this, but then suddenly he has a lap full of Stiles.

“Stiles,” he says softly, warningly, but the boy doesn’t listen, and somehow Peter’s hands are on Stiles’s hips, and those long, clever fingers are carding through the older man’s hair.

The boy stretches his neck again and Peter’s mind blanks a moment, but he gathers himself and tries again. “Stiles, this can’t happen.”

There’s a hand pressing against his zipper, and Stiles is whispering into his ear. “Looks like you’re wrong.”

Peter _wants_ , but not like this, _Stiles isn’t even 18 yet_ , and he goes to lift his arm to pull the kid off, but finds that it’s not responding.

“Stiles.” The tone is angry warning now, and Stiles pulls back from where he was pressing himself against Peter.

There’s no lust or want in his eyes, no just curiosity. “Oh good, it finally kicked in.”

“What is this, Stiles?” Peter is angry now, and his eyes bleed into supernatural blue.

“I need something from you.” Stiles is calm, and then shifts back and moves those fingers to Peter’s zipper.

“And you couldn’t just ask?” Peter’s tone is sarcastic.

Stiles snorts. “I’m not willing to pay your price. And this way, you won’t tell Derek.”

Peter can’t help but admire Stiles a moment. Which doesn’t help the situation downstairs.

“Hm, I think somebody is enjoying himself.”

Peter can’t help but watch as the long fingers curls around his length, tugging gently.

Stiles settles to Peter’s side, leaning in to whisper into his ear. “I think you like someone taking charge of you, Peter. Maybe next time I’ll pin you to the mattress, fuck you with my fingers.”

His dick jumps at that, Peter can’t help it, and Stiles’ voice gets smug. “You’d like that wouldn’t you, Peter? I’d wrap a hand around you just like this, let you fuck my hand while I open you up. I bet you could take all my fingers, couldn’t you? You’d be a good boy for me Peter, wouldn’t you?”

Stiles is literally quoting exact lines from this porn he watched, but he can tell just how well it's working for Peter, and the faster it did, the faster he can get out of here.

Peter’s cock twitches again and Stiles improvises. “That’s it, Peter, be a good boy for me.”

Peter tries to gather himself. “Stiles you need to stop. This isn’t-”

He cuts off as Stiles squeezes and his hips jerk involuntarily.

“Oh, but it is, Peter. And you will.”

Stiles hand is moving faster now, and the curse of whatever concoction Stiles made, is that he can feel everything. But he can’t move.

And Peter wants to _move_ so badly right now. He wants to throw Stiles down and fuck him until he can’t walk. Or throw him out the door. Or beg the human to do all the things he’s talking about.

“St-Stiles,” Peter manages, the only warning before he’s pulsing in the boy’s grip. Stiles produces a container out of nowhere, and collects Peter’s seed in it, holding it up and eying it.

“That ought to be enough. Thanks for the donation.” Stiles winks and washes his hand at the sink before tucking the container into his backpack.

"Stiles…"

He turns and heads for the door, leaving Peter just as he is.

“You can keep the books.”

“ _STILES._ ”


	7. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: i need more top!stiles/peter fic stat  
> Prompt: Peter is a part of Dark Lord’s soul which was left in diary. For whatever reason diary ends up in Stiles' hands, Peter seduces him, falls for him and decides fuck the power, he wants Stiles more. So Stiles resurrects him and Peter helps to put Dark Lord down. [I changed the setting to a very vague and generalized (read: i hate world-building) fantasy realm, altered the Dark Lord to a Dark Lady (because I’ve always wanted to write a Mary Sue), and this is what happened.]  
> Warnings: Stiles Stilinski/Peter Hale, bottom!Peter, fantasy AU

Screaming fills his ears, and he lifts his hands to cover them, before he realizes- it's his own voice.

And that he has no hands.

“That's it, Peter, sing for me.” A soft, feminine voice croons from the darkness.

_Peter, his name is Peter._

He doesn't realize just how much pain he's in until it stops. The relief is almost orgasmic and he spasms.

Or would have if he had a body.

A hand cloaked in darkness reaches out and curls into his center, and he can _feel_ this intrusion violating him.

Peter feels himself being compacted, twisted up tighter and tighter.

He finds new levels of soul deep pain.

And then there's nothing.

-

“This one.” There's a keen determination on the young man's face, at odds with his normal cheerful openness.

The vendor eyes the book. It's a filthy gray-black, and the title is long since faded.

“Not your usual style.”

Stiles smiled a secret smile. “You'd be surprised.”

-

Peter becomes aware of hands on him, long thin fingers caressing him and his soul trembles with the touch. And then the fingers are parting him, splitting him in half, stroking down his pages...

_Pages?_

A voice is murmuring above him, somehow full of sunshine and darkness together and he _yearns_.

It continues, reading aloud and then Peter finds himself un- _twisted_ and it feels like he's exploding and expanding, and it's so overwhelming that the world vanishes in a flare of white.

When he comes back to himself, or at least as much of himself there is, the boy is staring at him.

Peter takes a moment to look him over.

Wide honey eyes with long lashes that sweep over pale cheeks dotted with fairy kisses. Elegant fingers made for spell-casting, pointing in his direction. Lean, lithe form rising and moving. Plush lips, reddened by absent gnawing, now parting to shout...

“No, no, no need. It's okay. I won't hurt you.”

His voice is the same as it's ever been, at least he has that. Expressive and alluring, Peter had made a fair living as a bard before the Lady had pulled his magic from him.

Apprehension turns to curiosity, and the boy stalks right up to him, and puts his hand through him.

Peter has never felt anything so erotic in his life.

“Can you feel that?” The boy asks softly, intently.

Peter allows that yes, he can. He's not giving away how it makes him feel.

Something in his expression must do, because the boy starts experimenting.

“Please, stop,” Peter gasps out after a moment. “For the love of.. Stop, boy.”

“Stiles.” He says, and he bites his lower lip again, and _Peter_ wants to bite that lower lip. He wants to possess and be possessed, wants to take the boy apart as surely as he's taking Peter apart right now.

Stiles settles into his chair, and Peter resumes his equilibrium.

“Tell me your story, shade.”

“My name is Peter Hale, and I was cursed by the Dark Lady.” He remembers his instructions now, the words of her demands seared into his mind.

_Did he have a mind? He must, for he's thinking_.

“To inhabit the pages of this book until one of sufficient power claims it. And then bring them to Her service.”

Stiles interrupts his retelling. “Do you have a body?”

Peter considers a moment, sifting through his extended magical knowledge. He had been _somewhat_ of an expert on magic prior to the curse.

“I believe so. I expect for independent thought there must be a tether somewhere. Shades without seem much less coherent, and much more single minded.”

Stiles leans forward, those incredible eyes burning intensely.  
“Well, Peter Hale, this is what we're going to do...”

-

It's been nearly a century, but the land doesn't change that much, and Peter is able to direct the boy to the Dark Lady's castle, hidden high in the mountains.

Each night of their journey brings Peter a new appreciation for this young prodigy.

For that's what Stiles is. Magic is as easy as breathing to him, and he absorbs every spell Peter can teach him.

And then twists and adjusts them to suit his needs, a thing that Peter has _never_ heard of.

In the end, the fight is not much of one.

The Lady has been waiting all these many years, Her powers slowly waning over time.

Stiles is the most powerful magic user the world has ever seen.

In the end, She is just a corpse that Stiles burns to ash.

He finds Peter hovering over his body, perfectly preserved in a glass coffin.

Stiles puts the pieces of the man back together.

When Peter opens his eyes, back in his body, those incredible fingers are roaming over his chest, and Peter can't help but arch into that touch.

“Stiles,” he says softly, a question and a plea together.

The boy nods and steps back, lets Peter climb from his coffin and stand before him. Peter still aches with a burning passion for the boy, but now it's corporeal, now he can do something about it.

he steps forward, the man's body telegraphing his intent.

Stiles looks amused. “Oh.”

He points at Peter and he's immobilized, can't move. “ _Stiles_.”

“Patience, pet.”

Peter's anger flares. “I'm no one's-”

Stiles snaps his head back around and Peter is silenced by the force of his glare.

“Yes, Peter, you are.”

Stiles drags the older man into the center of the Lady's throne room, now his, and forces Peter to his knees.

“You want me, this is the only way you're going to get me.”

He waits, watching, and eventually Peter lowers his eyes.

Stiles fucks him in the middle of the massive hall, makes Peter beg and plead for everything that the boy does to him.

Stiles has always been very inventive. And now he has the power to go with it.


	8. Stetopher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chris/Peter/Stiles, in the Jungle together
> 
> Warnings: Chris/Peter/Stiles, Public Sex, Blow Jobs

“ _There's no way I'm going in there.”_

Chris clearly remembers saying this to the both of them.

 _Very clearly_ put his foot down.

He's still not sure what happened between here and there.

Okay so he sort of knows what happened, two sets of gorgeous eyes, different shades but same pleading expression.

And then the tight-as-sin jeans that Peter puts on along with the v-neck shirt practically to his navel, combined with what Stiles is wearing, or _not wearing_ as the case may be. Leather pants that look painted on and a shirt that looks like fishnet stockings.

Even worse, when Peter gets out the eyeliner and the lip gloss...well, a man can only take so much.

Especially when his two boys go down on their knees and suck him off together.

That's the part that gets fuzzy.

Somewhere between that and now, they had managed to drag him to this club.

At least, Chris had managed to mostly keep his dignity intact.

He's wearing a tight black t-shirt that Stiles had somehow wheedled him into putting on, but his jeans are just regular old black jeans, and absolutely no makeup.

He settles onto a seat at the bar as they head for the dance floor, and Chris sips a drink as he watches them and fuck if they aren't putting on a good show.

Stiles is grinding his crotch on Peter's ass and sucking a hickey into the older man's neck, while Peter writhes right back into him.

After a moment, Peter turns to face Stiles, and they lock lips, tongues swirling around each other's as they move sinuously to the music.

Stiles' hands slide around Peter's neck, while the older man's go around Stiles' waist. They break off their kiss, and then Peter is talking in Stiles' ear.

He throws back his head and laughs, exposing the long line of that throat that both Chris and Peter love to mark up.

And then both those devious sets of eyes turn to face Chris and he already knows he's so _fucked_ right now.

They keep their attention on him, and start moving together again, but not quite to the music, and as soon as Chris realizes what they're doing, he's instantly hard.

Peter smirks first, because he realizes that Chris has caught on, and then he cups Stiles' ass and presses him even closer.

Chris adjusts himself in his seat, and then nods once, giving them permission.

With that, the duo don't even try to hide what they're doing, though the place is packed and there are probably others doing the same thing.

They rut against each other like it's a race, and if it is Stiles wins, because Chris can see the tell tale way that his whole body shivers. Peter finishes soon after, Chris sees the way he tilts his head to the side and clenches his jaw.

Watching his two boys get each other off that way has him achingly hard, and he beckons them over.

They shuffle close, cheeks flushes and eyes dazed and they're both so beautiful in that moment that he's forced to kiss them both at length.

There's a little area with curtained booths, and Chris leads them both that way, and before too long, they've got his dick out and they're kissing across it, tongue gliding up and along his length, while he throws his head back and lets them have their way.

It's not long before he's coming in Stiles' mouth, who instantly pulls Peter close and slots their mouths together, sharing.

Chris chuckles, because that's enough to make his dick twitch again, but he tucks it away as they climb to either side of him and both fix their eyes on him.

Chris knows the question they're not asking and he gives a long-suffering sigh.

“Fine, we can come back again.”


	9. Argelinski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chris/Stiles, dealing with incubus together
> 
> Warnings: Chris/Stiles, Fluff, Established Relationship

“You can't just _shoot_ Danny!” Stiles waves his hands dramatically, managing to knock over a stack of books.

“Stiles, he's killing people.” Chris loads silver alloy bullets into his Desert Eagle.

“We don't _know_ that.”

“We've got enough evidence by the code.” Chris is obstinately not looking at Stiles.

“Just stop. Let me talk to him. We're bros. He'll listen to me.”

Chris shrugs. “Your funeral.”

Stiles narrows his eyes, then rests his hand on Chris' arm. “I'll be fine.”

This time his tone is much softer, because he caught the look in Chris' eyes, and the older man is worried. He always worries a little bit about Stiles, but especially when it comes to demons. Stiles had missed the signs.

“Fine, you go talk to him, I have to head to the Sheriff's station. If you're not in touch with me by the hour, I'm calling your dad in.” Chris gives in ungraciously.

“Well, that's not playing by the rules.”

Chris slides an arm around Stiles' waist and looks hard into his eyes. “There are no rules when it comes to you.”

Stiles grins, obviously taking that as a compliment, but before he can get mouthy, Chris kisses him.

It's soft and tender and expresses all of the things that Chris isn't capable of saying with words.

“I love you too,” says Stiles, and then wanders out the door.

-

Turns out, the incubus isn't Danny.

It's the new deputy.

Chris finds him pinning the Sheriff against the wall.

Parrish is just mostly confused, and he's a little glassy eyed and high from the kissing, and if Chris didn't know any better, he'd misclassify that as lust.

But he does know better, and Chris manages to separate them. As soon as the Sheriff is a few feet away from Parrish, his brain clears up and he swears.

Chris explains everything, and promises not to tell Stiles about the incident.

The deputy doesn't even know that he's killing people. Or why so many people are trying to pick him up on a daily basis.

“I thought it was just because I was new to town.” Parrish is wide eyed. “And I _am_ handsome.”

Chris has a very awkward talk with Parrish, and then sends him to Deaton.

-

He has another awkward talk with Stiles about his dad (okay so he lied about that promise).

“Poor dad's going to be traumatized.”

“Oh I don't know. Looked like they both were getting into it.” Chris teases his partner.

Stiles narrows his eyes. “You take that back right now.”

“Or what?”

“Or...or no sex for a week!”

Chris arches a brow. “I'm pretty sure you couldn't last that long.”

Stiles mutters, but has to admit the hunter may be right.

“Whatever. Anyways, did you tell Scott?”

Chris nods. “He's going to have a talk with Parrish as well.”

Stiles sighs and rubs his forehead.

“Soooo, not only are we getting supernatural creatures, we're also getting things that don't know they're magical?”

“It would seem so.” Chris shrugs, either way he has a job to do.

“Why do we live here again?”

“ _Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger_.”

Stiles flutters his lashes. “Oh, _Tish_. _That's French_. ”


	10. Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Peter gets turned into an actual wolf
> 
> Warnings: Peter is creepy, Non-Con Elements

“Well, he's a lot less annoying this way.”

The wolf in the center of their living room bares his teeth and snarls at Stiles.

Who flails backwards and ducks behind Derek, peeking out around the older man.

“You didn't say he was still _him_ in there.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“Deaton thinks it's only a twenty-four hour thing. I don't know how he can tell but...” Derek shrugs.

They both eye Peter once more, who has settled down on his haunches, and is staring at the two of them.

And Stiles is amazed at how well he's communicating something along the lines of, _You two are dumbasses._

“Hey, you're the one who mouthed off the the Queen of Fairies. If anyone's the dumbass, it's you.”

Derek side eyes Stiles, and then catches him when he flinches back from Peter's snapping teeth.

And then they both stare at him as soon as it hits them.

Peter's eyes are glowing red.

He seems to realize as soon as they do, and the color shifts to his normal blue, but it's too late and Stiles jabs a finger in his direction.

“How did you do that?!”

Peter doesn't answer, obviously, but he does get up and advance on Stiles. Who hides behind Derek again. Because Derek is big and strong. The fact that the view from there is an excellent one, is just a happy coincidence.

However, when the wolf growls in a certain way, those eyes flashing red again, Derek grudgingly moves to the side.

“Stiles, I can't...”

“It's okay, Derek. I don't think he really wants to hurt me.”

Stiles heartbeat gives away the lie, which makes Derek wince. There's nothing he can do about it now.

The wolf suddenly bounds forward and Stiles scrambles back, but there's a paw hooked around his ankle, and he falls on his ass.

“Hey now, you'll bruise the merchand-” Stiles is cut off by the long tongue that sweeps across his face.

“Ew, gross, quit it.” Stiles flails, but Peter is licking his face thoroughly.

Finally he gets his hands up to protect his face, but that lifts his shirt, revealing a strip of Stiles' torso.

Peter swipes his tongue along it and Stiles shivers.

“You need to cut that out, right now.” Stiles is trying to make his voice firm, but it quavers a bit.

Peter nudges his nose under Stiles's shirt, lifting it higher, but the boy squeaks and tugs it down.

Which leaves his face open again, and Peter licks along Stiles' throat next.

“God _fucking_ dammit, Peter, quit it right now.”

“Quit what?”

Stiles takes a deep breath as Scott arrives. “He won't stop-”

Peter licks his cheek.

“-that!”

Scott laughs and then lightly bops the top of Peter's head.

“Alright, you've had your fun, get off of Stiles.”

Peter refuses, instead climbing onto the human further, laying his whole body on top of Stiles.

Stiles waves and arm and shouts out muffled curses.

Derek starts to get up but Peter turns his head, eyes flashing red where Scott can't see.

He stays where he is.

Scott crouches down and chucks the wolf under the chin, letting his own red eyes swirl into being.

“Move off of him, Peter.” The command holds the weight of the Alpha, and Derek watches to see if Peter will obey.

He does.

Scott nods and flashes a smile. “Thank you Peter.”

The wolf curls up on the rug, unblinking eyes staring at Scott.

“Don't you worry, buddy. We'll figure out how to turn you back!”

He helps Stiles up, brushing him off. Stiles eyes Peter and mutters, “Asshole” as he follows Scott out the door.

Peter waits until the last rumblings of Stiles' jeep vanish into the distance.

He rises, gait heavy with purpose and advances on his nephew, who hasn't moved.

The eyes flash red, and Derek cowers as Peter's claws tears into him.

 


	11. Stetopher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chris/Stiles, flirting  
> Prompt: Chris/Peter/Stiles, getting together  
> Prompt: Stiles hitting on Chris :)
> 
> Warnings: Chris/Peter/Stiles, D/s, Spanking, Butt Plugs, Polyamory

They’ve talked about bringing another person in, have even scouted a few places for their perfect third, but no one ever seems to work for both of them.

Chris wonders from time to time if its jealousy that makes them pick faults with each other’s choices, but it doesn’t _feel_ like jealousy.

It’s just that no one is ever _right_.

Chris is mulling over these thoughts at the bar while he waits for Peter.

He’s not a big fan of dance clubs, but Peter is, and it _is_ his birthday after all.

So Chris indulges his boy. Why not?

His drink comes and he goes to reach for it, when slender, elegant fingers wrap around it.

Chris arches a brow, and turns to give the thief of piece of his mind.

And stops dead because the bastard is _beautiful_.

There’s no other word for it. He’s got this hair that screams sex, and wide honey colored eyes that scream innocence.

His mouth is perfect for kissing, and Chris bets it looks gorgeous stretched around a cock. He suddenly wants to find out, badly.

Long neck, subtly arched as he lets Chris look him over, and then he deliberately and slowly lifts Chris’ drink to his mouth and takes a sip.

Chris watches him swallow and then lick his lips, and then reach a hand in the drink to liberate an ice cube, before he returns the drink to its owner.

The boy runs the ice cube along his lips, and then parts them to suck on it, and Chris is suddenly aware that his jeans are too tight.

He shifts, arching a brow, making his expressing somewhat distant.

“You always steal drinks from strange men?”

The boy flutters his lashes and it should look silly, but it’s _not_ , it’s just as alluring as the rest of his mannerisms.

“Only from the gorgeous ones.”

Chris snorts. He knows he’s not the pretty one of the relationship.

“Why don’t I buy you a drink, and then you won’t have to go accosting old men at the bar?”

The boy leans forward, insinuating himself into Chris’ space.

“What if I want what _you’ve_ got?”

There’s no doubt as to his meaning, he’s telegraphing intent with every line of his body.

Chris would like nothing more than to pin the boy against the wall, and show him _exactly_ what Chris is packing, but Peter’s not here and they don’t play without prior discussion.

“Sorry kid, not in the cards for tonight.”

Chris can’t help but laugh though, when the long fingers – and he’s suddenly thinking of those fingers opening Peter up - wrap around his glass and stroke up and down slowly.

Chris watches, of course he does, so he doesn’t see the boy swoop closer, and he startles when there’s a low voice at his ear.

“Your loss.”

And then the kid vanishes, along with Chris’ drink.

He shakes his head. Well, you gotta hand it to him, the kid _was_ memorable.

-

Peter is sixteen minutes late and he’s going to feel every one of those minutes at the business end of Chris’ whip. And by the look of him, he knows it.

He’s babbling apologies before he even comes within hearing distance and Chris just fixes that cool stare on him until he drifts off into silence.

Chris rises from his seat and leans in to whisper into Peter’s ear.

“Bathroom. Now.”

Any other time, that might be a good thing, but Peter knows that this is going to be…unpleasant.

He’s right.

Chris shoves him up against the wall of the bathroom, tugs down his too-tight jeans to under the curve of his ass, and swats him right there with everyone watching. One blow across the ass for every minute that he’s late.

By the time he’s done, tears roll down Peter’s cheeks, not from the pain or the humiliation, but because he’s displeased Chris.

The older man had stuck a plug in Peter’s mouth for the duration, and now pulls it out, spit-slick, sliding it into Peter without any warning.

The younger man whimpers against the wall, fingernails scraping along the paint, but makes no move to get away from Chris.

He pulls Peter’s jeans back up, denim scraping against reddened flesh, and gives him one more hard swat, jostling the plug.

Peter groans against the wall, because of course, he’s hard as _hell_ from the manhandling.

Chris orders him to put himself back together, and then dangles a leather band from his finger.

Peter gives him big, wide puppy dog eyes, but Chris doesn’t budge and so Peter reluctantly reaches for it, securing it around his neck.

Peter hates the collar.

Well, it’s not the _collar_ so much as the dog tag that hangs from it that says, “I am being punished.”

Chris pulls him close. “You took your punishment so well. Good boy.”

Peter shivers with the praise and clings to Chris, who leans in to kiss him slowly and thoroughly.

“Happy birthday, baby boy.” He swats Peter’s ass again.

“Now get out there and have some fun.”

-

It’s about a half an hour later when Chris looks up and recognizes the boy dancing with Peter, and his eyebrow arches.

It’s the amber-eyed boy from earlier.

He catches sight of Chris watching the two of them and blows him a kiss, then leans in to talk in Peter’s ear.

Peter turns his attention to Chris, then grins, and Chris can practically _feel_ the mischief brewing.

The both of them are looking at him now, and there’s something _so fucking hot_ about having both those gazes on him.

He lifts his glass, nodding to Peter, giving him permission for whatever it is that brat is plotting.

Before he can even blink, the two of them are full on making out in the middle of the dance floor.

Chris groans into his drink.

The two of them are going to _kill_ him.

-

For two _very long_ dances, they tease him from afar, and it’s deliberate, both those brats keep making sure that he’s watching.

Chris isn’t sure that he could take his gaze away.

Finally, they come over, laughing and clinging to one another, and the younger of the duo rests his hand on Chris’ thigh brazenly.

“I see you remember me.”

He looks down to Chris’ obvious bulge significantly. Chris doesn’t follow the gaze. He knows how hard he is.

“I see you’re still a troublemaker.”

Peter’s draping himself around the boy.

“This is Stiles. He could be _our_ troublemaker…”

Chris considers a moment and then rises, reaches for Stiles and pulls him close.

He claims the boy’s lips in a demanding kiss, to which Stiles yields exquisitely, easily giving up control to Chris.

“Only one way to find out.”

He arches a brow at Peter, who grins and tucks his arm through Stiles.

“Let’s go home.”


	12. Stetopher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Stiles going Darkside  
> Prompt: Stiles/Chris/Peter, anything  
> Prompt: the pack finding out about Peter and Chris
> 
> Warnings: Implied BDSM

“You know what he is!”

Lydia’s voice is full of venom as she confronts Chris Argent.

“Better than any of you do. I’ve known him since he was born.”

Everyone’s eyes turn to look at Chris, including Peter, because he has _no_ memory of this.

“He still a murderer.”

Scott’s voice is calm and certain. Their Alpha lived in a world of black and white sometimes.

“Enough.” Stiles waves his hand and everyone is forced to silence.

Stiles uses his magic abilities whenever possible, and it frightens Chris sometimes that he’d never _once_ touched his limits.

“Whatever he’s done, Peter hasn’t hurt anyone in, like, a year. And we’ve all been responsible for deaths. Hell, _I_ killed _him_.”

Stiles looks over Peter’s reclining form. “Also, he’s intelligent, bold, and you could bounce a quarter off that ass.”

He looks around the group sternly. “More importantly, they’re both adults and who they fuck is their business.”

Chris can feel Peter shifting next to him, and he hides a smirk, because Peter’s biggest kink is praise.

Lydia walks over to Stiles, craning her neck up because he keeps putting on height, and before anyone can stop her, she slaps him as hard as she can.

In his surprise, Stiles lets the spell drop just in time to her her snarl at him.

“Don’t you _ever_ silence me again, Stiles Stilinski. That man tormented me, made me think I was crazy, and used my body without my permission.”

Stiles looks mildly down at Lydia. “Try therapy. Or bottle it up inside. I don’t care. But you do not get to cause a scene over someone else’s relationship.”

Lydia tosses her hair and starts to walk away.

“Oh and Lydia…If you ever hit me again, you’ll regret it for a long time.”

Lydia freezes a moment, she knows what Stiles is capable of, and then squares her shoulders and stalks out.

Scott looks conflicted. “Stiles…”

“She’ll be back. Lydia needs to be admired more than she cares about Chris fucking Peter into the mattress.”

Stiles turns his attention to the duo in question. “Although, perhaps, you could find a different place to play. We do all have to use this loft.”

“I _live_ here, Stiles. And you lot were supposed to be meeting at the old house today.” Peter’s voice is somewhat sulky, but only if you knew how to read behind the sneer.

“We never meet at Chris’ house, and he’s got a basement chock full of nice toys.”

Chris arches a brow. “And you know this because…”

Stiles smirks. “I’ve been there, remember?”

Both Chris and Peter are watching him intently now, and Stiles meets the gaze with an eyebrow raise and a head tilt.

Peter is the first to break the heavy silence. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Chris isn’t surprised. They hadn’t talked about it, but they way that Peter has always wanted Stiles, especially now that he’s brimming with power…add in the way that Stiles had complimented him, well, Peter doesn’t ever deny himself something he wants.

Interestingly, Stiles isn’t surprised either. Chris wonders what he knows about them.

“Derek, Scott…” Stiles doesn’t look away from Peter. “You have five minutes to be out of here.”

“I live here, too, Stiles.”

Stiles meets Chris’ eyes, stalks forward and reaches for the hunter’s belt. Chris makes no move to stop him. Peter sits up straight and his entire focus is now on Stiles’ long fingers.

Scott makes a strangled noise and drags Derek, still protesting, out.

“Dude, do you really want to see your uncle getting fucked?” Stiles can hear Scott in the hallway.

Stiles doesn’t hear Derek’s response, but Peter snickers to himself at it.

Stiles is too busy sliding the belt free of the jean loops with an audible hiss. Stiles takes a step back, folds the belt in half, still keeping eye contact with Chris.

“Peter, you have exactly one minute to strip. Starting…now.”


	13. Argelinski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chris/Stiles, arranged marriage AU
> 
> Warnings: None

“There's a slight...problem.”  
Chris Argent arches a brow, leans back in his seat. “Problem?”  
“Your intended...ran away.”  
His mother is biting her lip and she looks like-  
“Are you laughing?”  
“He's obviously Claudia's son.” Yeah, she's laughing.  
“Let me guess, she was a free spirit.”  
“You have no idea.” She pats him on the shoulder. “Alright, Hunter, go find your man.”  
-  
“Chris, I'm so sorry. He's kind of been on his own since his mother died.”  
“It's alright, Sheriff. I'll find him.”  
“I thought he had settled into this marriage idea. He knows that it's important to the stability of the hunting families.”  
Chris nods. “We'll work it out. It'll be a good start to our life together.”  
-  
It takes him two days to track Stiles to an abandoned train depot. He's popping Cheetos and playing a first person shooter on a little tv.  
“How do you have power here?”  
Stiles yelps and falls off of the crate he was sitting on. He blinks up at Chris, and the older man can't help but admire those golden-brown eyes and the long lashes framing them.   
“Dude, you almost gave me a heart attack.”  
“You're too young for a heart attack. And too old to run away from home.”  
“Did my dad send you? I'm not marrying some old geezer, so you can just go back and tell him that.”  
Chris arches a brow.   
Stiles rights his crate and Chris pulls up another one. “Old geezer?”  
“Yeah, didn't he tell you why you were here?” Stiles doesn't wait for an answer, just studies his hands. “I'm supposed to be getting married tomorrow. To this dude who's like fifty. Just because our mothers were bffs and promised.”  
“Fifty?” Chris is somewhat affronted.  
“I KNOW. Ugh, how is this my life.”  
“I mean, granted there is an age difference, but fifty?”   
Stiles freezes and looks at Chris.  
“You're him.”  
Chris grins and offers his hand. “Chris Argent, your fiance. Nice to meet you.”  
“Fuck.”   
“At some point, certainly. I thought we'd get to know each other first.” He picks up the controller. “Want to teach me how to play?”  
“Uh,” Stiles says intelligently. “Okay.”  
-  
It takes two games before Chris is handing Stiles his own ass, and the younger man gets very animated, trash talking, and Chris thinks he's absolutely gorgeous.  
Night starts to fall and Chris stretches. “I should take you home. You're getting married tomorrow.”  
Stiles eyes him intently, Chris arches a brow.  
“I suppose it's against the rules to kiss before the big day.”  
Chris snorts. “I get the feeling you're not one for rules much.”  
-  
They arrive late to their own wedding.


	14. Entire Pack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Whole pack+parents. Got drunk/high and played spin the bottle. Everyone kissing everyone!(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Especially I wanna see Chris kissing Stiles and Isaac, Peter kissing Stiles and Sheriff, Sheriff kissing Derek and Isaac, Melissa kissing Derek, Lydia kissing Allison (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> Warnings: Sheriff/Melissa/Derek, Allison/Lydia, Peter/Chris/Isaac/Stiles

“What the fu-ell was that stuff?” Stiles trips over nothing, and faceplants. “Nice carpet, soft carpet.”

“Fairy dust.” Chris seems barely affected. Until he miscalculates upon sitting down and almost hits the floor.

“He's got good reflexes when he's high on dust.” Isaac lays down, using Stiles as a pillow.

The Sheriff comes in, carrying Melissa who's giggling like a maniac. He sets her down carefully and then takes the seat next to Chris.

Derek is carrying Lydia in his arms, and Allison is on his back.

Stiles sighs softly while petting Isaac. “Derek is so strong...”

“It should wear off within the next 24 hours.” Chris helps his daughter off Derek's back and settles her onto the couch. Lydia leans on her.

“You should all stay here until it wears off.” Peter is completely sober. He and Scott managed to miss the dusting. The Alpha is outside, guarding his inebriated pack.

“We should play spin the bottle.”

Isaac looks at Stiles. “What are you, twelve?”

-

“Derek!”

He startles, having been half-asleep. “Hm? What?”

“The bottle's pointing at you dude, you have to kiss Scott's mom!”

Derek swallows hard, eyes going wide, but Melissa pushes up and stalks over wobbling, but determined and plants one right on the younger man.

“Woohooo, go Mama McCall!” They applaud her as she triumphantly returns to her seat. Derek is just sitting there blinking.

“Okay Derek, your turn!”

He stares at the bottle. “I don't understand the point of this.”

“Just spin it, sourwolf.”

He does and it goes skittering across the room. Stiles scrambles after it. “Gotta watch that strength dude.”

Derek's more careful this time, and it lands on the Sheriff as Stiles flops on top of Isaac again. Derek flicks his eyes over the man in uniform and he's not too high to realize that this is a really bad idea. He does it anyways, gets up and heads over, and the Sheriff is watching him intently.

Derek trips over something and falls to his knees in front of the Sheriff, who reaches out to steady him. Derek blinks up at the Sheriff and he's frozen, he can't do it, but the Sheriff leans forward nice and slow and presses his lips to Derek's.

Derek wants more, and he thinks the Sheriff knows it, but he's already taking the bottle from the younger man, and Derek fumbles his way back to his seat.

The Sheriff's bottle points to Lydia, and he gives her a quick peck as he hands over the bottle. She spins it wildly and it goes underneath the kitchen table.

Stiles dives after it, accidentally kicking Isaac in the head. Who kicks back and sends Stiles skidding across the kitchen floor.

“Wheeee!”

“It was pointing at Allison.” Lydia pulls Allison close, and they start full on making out.

Melissa has already sought out one of the bedrooms to crash in.

Stiles flips the bottle to Isaac, who's distracted watching Lydia and Allison. Stiles smacks him on the head. “Just go ahead and spin it.”

He does. It lands on the Sheriff.

“You got some sort of bottle magnet, Dad?” Stiles is giggling.  
Isaac crawls over, and inserts himself into the Sheriff's lap and he's not being at all shy about licking his way into the older man's mouth.

The blue eyes blinks a few times as Isaac withdraws smugly.

“Dad's got gaaaaame!”

Stiles grabs the bottle before Isaac gives it away.

“Not fair, I haven't got a turn yet, I'm calling dibs.” He spins it quick over Isaac's objections. It lands on Peter who has been watching the entire proceedings with amusement.

“Oh, zooooombie.. c'mere so I can keesh you.”

Peter arches a brow. “Oh no, Stiles. You've got to come to me.”

Stiles stumbles over Isaac on his way, and pretty much falls into Peter's lap. Stiles smooshes his face into Peter's. “Muah! I'm awesome!”

He starts to wiggle out of Peter's lap when the arms come around him like a vise, and Peter pulls him back in for another kiss. This one goes on so long that the Sheriff has to clear his throat, and eyes Peter darkly when he finally lets Stiles go.

Peter smirks like the cat who got the cream as Stiles tumbles out of his lap and hits the floor with an oof. The boy blinks dazedly as Peter leans down slowly and spins the bottle, watching the Sheriff's eyes the whole time.

Neither of them are surprised when it lands on him.

The Sheriff arches a brow. Its a challenge.

Peter picks up the gauntlet, rises and moves towards the Sheriff with the grace of a born wolf. Instead of leaning in, he reaches out and grabs the lapels of the uniform and pulled the man to his feet.

The Sheriff wobbles slightly, but he steadies himself on the wolf, and then they stare at each other a long moment.

Stiles and Isaac aren't each watching anymore, because their pushing and shoving has devolved into kissing.

The girls have both passed out, all tangled with each other. Derek vanished into his bedroom at some point.

Chris, though, he's watching intently. He's the only one who sees Peter give in first, fist his hands in that uniform, and lean in, opening up for the Sheriff.

Chris watches the older man reach around to hold Peter's neck, is the only who hears the whimper from the werewolf, and it's his eyes that Peter looks to when the Sheriff finally frees him.

Chris doesn't miss the flash of supernatural blue in the wolf's eyes.

The Sheriff scoops up the bottle and flicks it to Chris. “All yours, I'm gonna crash.”

Chris just absently tosses it to the floor, barking out a laugh when it points to where Stiles and Isaac are currently twining tongues. They pull apart to see what's so amusing, then glance at each other.

With identical grins, they crawl up to bookend Chris, taking turns kissing him and each other, and Peter can only watch so much of that.

“If you boys would be so kind as to release my hunter.”

Peter has two pouts directed at him, warm amber eyes and angelic blue widened in his direction.

“I am not strong enough for this.”

Chris grins. “You do have a King.”

Peter thinks about that for two seconds. “Go. I'll be there in a minute.”

He watches the three of them stumble down the hallway, and shakes his head.

Peter lets Scott know that everyone's crashing, tucks a blanket over Allison and Lydia, and then checks on Derek.

Who is enthusiastically being kept warm by Melissa and the Sheriff.

Peter quirks a brow, shrugs and then continues on down the hall to crawl in with the three men in his bed.

 


	15. Argelinski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chris/Stiles. They are kidnapped together and thrown in small cell. Chris comforting Stiles and sharing body heat
> 
> Warnings: None

“Just sit _down_.”

Chris' voice is threaded with frustration. At himself, at the situation, and at being stuck in this tiny cell with someone who cannot be still.

“I can't.” Stiles teeth are chattering, and Chris take a closer look at the boy. _Well not boy anymore, all of the pack are almost done with college._

Stiles' lips are blue and he's rubbing his arms, because naturally, all he's got on in a thin t-shirt. _This kid has absolutely no self-preservation._

“Come here, you idiot.” Chris stands up and shrugs his jacket off, stepping forward to wrap it around Stiles' shoulders.

Those amber eyes look right into his through thick lashes and then Stiles' cheeks flush faintly.

_He's gorgeous._

Chris clears his throat and takes a step back, and does not have weird thoughts about the kid in his leather jacket. _Only he does._

It's even worse when Stiles settles on the cot next to him and stifles a yawn.

“You should get some sleep.” And if Chris' voice is rough, well, maybe Stiles will chalk it up to the less than stellar conditions.

“You need sleep too.” Stiles pats his hand, and then frowns. “Your hands are ice cubes.”

“Hunters are trained to discount inclement weather conditions.”

“Blah blah blah, you're a badass and you think you're hot stuff. You still need sleep.”

Chris sighs as he realizes that Stiles is not going to give up.

“You take the cot and I'll sleep on the floor. Scott should track us down by morning.”

“Dude, you're not sleeping on the floor.” Stiles reaches out and tugs on Chris' sleeve and he turns to look at the boy trying to scrunch himself up against the wall.

He thinks about being close to that surprisingly well-muscled body. Chris shakes his head.

“I've slept on worse.”

“Oh my god, you are so goddamned stubborn. Just share the fucking bed with me, dammit.” Chris looks at those amber eyes flashing with fire, and takes a step back.

“Stiles, I can't sleep with you.” And that comes out all wrong. He grimaces as soon as he says it and waves his hand. “You know what I mean.”

Stiles is very still while Chris turns his back, walks the three steps to the barred window and stares out at the moon. But he can feel the weight of those eyes on him, and he hears Stiles get up and step towards him.

Chris closes his eyes. But he doesn't move, doesn't pull away when Stiles settles his hand on Chris' waist, or when he presses his body flush against the older man's, resting his chin on the hunter's shoulder as his hand slides around to hold Chris.

“Stiles...”

He doesn't even know what he wants to say, so Chris licks his lips and tries to think.

“It's okay... Chris.”

 _Chris_ , not Mr. Argent, and there should be warning bells going off in Chris' mind, but it feels right somehow. Still, he's _absolutely_ not going to--

_Are those?_

Yes, those are Stiles' lips pressed to his neck.

Chris can't repress the full body shiver that runs through him, though he gives it a valiant try.

“Chris...” Stiles voice is soft, almost a whisper. “Come to bed.”

The warmth at his back pulls away, and a hand is tucked into his. Chris looks down at their entwined hands, and then turns to look up at Stiles a long, long moment.

Stiles tugs lightly, Chris sighs, and gives in, letting the younger man tug him to the cot.


	16. Stilahey/Argelinski/Scerek/Mahale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sheriff/Isaac, Chris/Stiles. Everyone is horrified. Like my dad/son is with whom? I need to bleach my brain
> 
> Warnings: Sheriff/Isaac, Chris/Stiles, Scott/Derek, Danny/Peter

“I need to bleach my brain, dude.”

“Oh, come on Stiles, he's an adult now, and besides, your dad's kinda hot.”

Stiles stops pacing and glares.

“Danny, I will _kill_ you if you ever say that again.”

“Besides, you've been boning Mr. Argent for a while now, you don't have any room to talk.”

“For one, Chris is fucking sexy, dude, and for the other- Oh hey Allison... Whatever you heard.”

He doesn't get to answer because Allison backhands him and starts yelling about taking advantage, and then Isaac rushes in, with Stiles' Dad's shirt all buttoned up wrong over his boxers.

And Stiles starts yelling at _him_ , and Scott has to Alpha roar to shut everybody up.

Everyone looks at him, and Derek looming over his shoulder. Scott rubs the back of his neck and looks at them a bit sheepishly. “I suppose now would be a good time to tell you that Derek and I have been...hooking up.”

“Really, Scott? Derek?” Stiles is shaking his head.

“Oh like it's worse than Chris Argent.”

“Wait, what?” The Sheriff is in the doorway in only a pair of uniform pants, and Danny whistles low.

“See, I told you, Stiles.”

“Oh, for fucks sake, this is why we should never have all moved in together. You heard absolutely _nothing_ , Dad.”

“Stiles and I have been together for months.”

Chris ducks the punch from the Sheriff, while Peter applauds from the top of the stairs.

“Well, this has been most entertaining.” He ogles Isaac and the Sheriff, and then tilts his head at Danny.

“But I think it's time for us to call it an evening..?”

Danny smirks and stretches languidly before rising from the couch and making his way up the stairs, preceding Peter into his bedroom.

“Well, I didn't see that one coming.”

 


	17. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Peter/Stiles - Cuddling  
> Prompt: Peter/Stiles - Research  
> Prompt: Asexual!Peter

It starts with the way they're always thrown together.

-

“Research,” snaps Derek, beta blue eyes flaring at Stiles who halts halfway to grabbing his bat. He looks at Scott for confirmation, but Scott just shrugs.

“We've got enough fighters, dude. We need your brain more.”

And Stiles doesn't like it, because it's _supposed_ to be him and Scott, but the Alpha has his pack now, bunch of misfit teen aged shapeshifters though they be.

Stiles settles back on the couch, watching them all file out behind Scott, then sighs and digs out the Argent bestiary.

After a half hour of fruitless searching, Stiles picks up the phone.

“You got a minute to look something up?”

-

After it keeps happening, Stiles doesn't bother to argue, just packs u his stuff and heads right over to Peter's. He always has good snacks.

“Dude, what is this stuff, it's fantastic!”

“I tweaked a recipe I found in a magazine.”

Stiles' favorite thing about Peter (and _huh,_ he has favorite things about Peter, _weird)_ , is that he loves to cook. Stiles loves to eat.

And when they're working together on a supernatural infestation, Peter always has something new to try. Stiles is an appreciative audience.

-

It continues with time and proximity.

-

Stiles steals the last fry off Peter's plate. The wolf barely even notices, because he's busy filching the dill pickle spear from Stiles'.

They do this automatically now, even as they continue an argument about the interpretation of a scene in the movie that they're watching.

“Dude, it's obvious.”

“You have to look behind the scene, think about the context and subtext.”

“No, I don't.”

Stiles tucks his cold feet under Peter's thigh after finishing the fry, and then sighs as the movie ends.

“Homework?” Peter asks, and the younger man nods and pulls out his science.

Stiles has taken to bringing his bookbag along wherever he goes, to snatch any chance at studying.

Peter is surprisingly helpful to bounce ideas off of, and an excellent proofreader when it comes to papers.

-

“I would have thought you'd be a wine drinker.”

Peter is very still a moment, then forces himself to relax. His eyes are flashing that supernatural blue that means he's in the grip of a strong emotion, though nothing else shows it.

“My father was killed by a drunk driver.” His tone is flat as he continues rubbing Stiles' feet. “I don't keep alcohol in my house.”

Stiles glances at his beer, sitting next to Peter's sparkling water.

He doesn't bring beer again.

-

It comes to a head at a Pack meeting.

-

“Are you two fucking?”

Stiles and Peter both arch their brows and then look at each other.

Stiles had been late to the meeting, had to drop by the Sheriff's station, and the only seat left was the one on the loveseat next to Peter.

He'd been distracted by a new book, or rather an old dusty book, and just plopped down, leaning against Peter's side.

The werewolf hadn't even looked up from his laptop, just lifted his left arm to lay over Stiles' shoulder, like he'd done a million times before.

In the privacy of his own apartment.

Peter gives Stiles a half-shrug, he doesn't care how the teenager answers.

Derek smacks Liam upside the back of the head. “Not your business.”

Stiles leers and asks him if he's looking for a threesome.

-

The next time it happens, it's deliberate on Stiles' part, because he's noticed Peter trying to pull back from it, and dammit, Stiles likes cuddling.

Peter is a good cuddler, and no one else ever touches Stiles in a way that is comforting, except his dad, and they only hug every so often.

Peter glances down at him, head tilted in question. The younger man grabs Peter's arm and wraps it around his shoulder and goes back to his physics.

Derek waits til everyone else leaves to track down the latest insane monster to attack Beacon Hills.

“If you two are ...together, it's okay.” He's shifting from side to side, uncomfortably.

Peter snorts and Stiles blinks those long lashes up at Derek. “Never thought it wouldn't be.”

Derek leaves with a grimace.

Stiles cranes his neck to look up at Peter. “Did you want to be... together?”

Peter glances at him. “I'm not interested in you that way.”

Stiles thinks a moment, then furrows a brow. “I'd be a really awesome boyfriend, you know.”

Peter snorts. “You'd be a terrible boyfriend, and I'm not interested in _anyone_ that way.”

Stiles considers a moment. “But what about Malia...and you dating Scott's mom?”

Peter narrows his eyes. “Tactical decision. Teenage mistake.”

Chewing on his pencil a moment, Stiles digests this information.

“Werewolves are tricksy creatures.”

“Shut up and go over that last kinematic equation. You switched your initial velocity with your final velocity.”

Stiles mutters and gets back to work.


	18. Mahale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I demand to see how Peter and Danny hooked up! [[Part The First](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1492678/chapters/3696206)]
> 
> Warnings: Peter Hale/Danny Mahealani

“You're Peter Hale.”

The werewolf slowly arches a brow at the kid – no, young man - who slides into the seat next to him. He merely flashes a sets of dimples and calls the bartender over to order a drink, glancing at Peter's drink and then buying him another.

Peter is intrigued. This is not how these things usually go.

“Danny Mahealani.” He extends his hand and Peter automatically places his in the younger man's. “I see you here a lot.”

Peter shrugs, and then nods his thanks to the guy behind the bar before turning back to Danny.

“The only nightlife that Beacon Hills really has.”

“And yet, you never pick anyone up.” Danny's soft brown eyes study Peter over his drink.

Peter's impressed despite himself. He hadn't noticed being watched. He tells the kid so.

“Old trick my grandmother taught me. Stay upwind of the prey.” Danny winks and then takes a sip of his bright colored fruity concoction, and Peter...Peter isn't prey.

What Peter is, is intrigued.

He leans forward slightly, nostrils flaring just once to catch Danny's scent. Expensive cologne and fully human.

“That's a dead giveaway, you know.”

Peter tilts his head curiously at the younger man, who answers the unspoken question.

“The sniffing. All of you do it, so once you know what to watch out for...” He shrugs.

And now Peter is wondering if Danny is a hunter, but he doesn't have the smell of gunpowder or metal about him.

“All of who?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “You're not the first wolf I've picked up here.”

Peter snaps his fingers, now he knows why Danny seems vaguely familiar. “You were with one of the mur- er.. twins.”

Danny nods. “Jackson was my best friend.”

Peter vaguely recalls arrogance and cheekbones. That time was still a bit...fuzzy in his mind.

“Which one clued you in?”

“Neither,” Danny dimples and then rises, setting his empty glass down. “Thanks for the drink.”

Peter allows a faint smirk to twitch across his face, and a slow perusal of the human's form. Kid took good care of himself, clever and entertaining, and already in the know.

_This might be interesting._

-

Danny's upfront and blunt about what he wants. Peter can appreciate that, even if he keeps his own motives closer to the vest.

The human wants someone to take care of him, to take him places, someone who won't press him for commitment, who understands that when he heads to college, it's going to be as a single man. Danny never asks why Peter does it, agrees to be, in the vernacular, Danny's “sugar daddy”. Peter's not sure that he would give a straight answer anyway.

Peter likes it that someone is happy to see him, that his taste in wine and entertainment is reciprocated, that Danny doesn't ask him where he's been or who he's been with, he just accepts.

 


	19. Sherlisserek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: More Sheriff/Melissa/Derek!
> 
> Warnings: Sheriff Stilinski/Melissa McCall/Derek Hale, polyamory

Derek's injured and it's some sort of magical wound, so it's just bleeding like crazy. The Sheriff swears and tugs him back to safety, calls Melissa and she talks him through bandaging the werewolf up.

Apparently while driving, because she arrives at the scene just in time to see Scott hit the wall, thrown by a giant hornet with a stinger as sharp as a razor.

The man wielding the enchanted sword, that had sliced Derek, yells in triumph before Lydia brains him with the heel of her shoe. Then she screams as the hornet turns and goes after her.

Melissa makes Derek swallow something and then starts sewing up his side, only pausing when he deliriously tells her that she's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

The Sheriff chuckles. “Stop hitting on my girl, Hale.”

Melissa darts a glance up at him, and the Sheriff flushes faintly because they hadn't really labeled things yet, only just started dating and, well, he kinda just put his foot in it.

He starts to apologize but Derek reaches out with a surprisingly strong grip and mumbles something at him. The Sheriff looks at Melissa, who shrugs.  
“Didn't quite catch that, son.” The Sheriff pats his hand.

Derek repeats himself and Melissa is pressing her lips together, trying not to laugh, as Derek finally passes out.

“What did he say?”

Melissa bites her lower lips and then grins a little up at him. “He said that, um...” She blushes faintly. “He said that he'd be willing to share.”

The Sheriff's eyebrows lift in surprise, and then he glances at Melissa who is very carefully _not_ looking at him, and wonders.

-

None of them bring it up again until it's the Sheriff's turn to be hurt, leg broken by a flying piece of wall, and Derek carries him out princess style.

The Sheriff thanks him, patting the side of his face gently, and it startles Derek enough that he flushes.

Later when Melissa is cutting away the leg of his pants, the Sheriff tells her that he's been thinking about what Derek had said.

She grins and tells him that she has too.

-

Derek rings the doorbell, shifting from side to side nervously. He's brought flowers for Melissa, and a six pack of the Sheriff's favorite beer.

Melissa pulls him into a hug, and then brushes a soft kiss across his lips, and that's enough to make him freeze in his spot, because he looks up at the Sheriff is watching, leaning against the wall beyond.

The older man grins. “Got any sugar for an old man?”

And Derek is grateful that he's being given an out, because if he wants to, he can just laugh it off, and he knows that the Sheriff won't push. He's sure though, he's thought about this at length.

So, Derek walks up to the older man, and they're almost the same height, so Derek just has to lean down a little, and he kisses tentatively.

He pulls back and looks at the Sheriff apprehensively, but there's already a large hand cupping the back of his head, and Derek finds himself pulled back in and kissed so thoroughly that his knees almost buckle.

“Enough, boys.” Melissa is watching them with a smirk that belies the heat in her eyes. “Dinner first.”

-

They don't actually do anything that night, there's a lot of talking and then they snuggle on the couch, sharing kisses, oddly with the Sheriff in the middle, when Derek was sure it would be Melissa. Not that he minds, he gets plenty from both.

Then there's more discussion, this time on specifics and Derek's ears are bright red by the time they're all comfortable, and he can't even really believe that they're doing this.

But they set up a date, and promise to let each other know if there's any questions or qualms.

-

When the time comes, it's _amazing_ , both of them in Melissa at the same time, sharing sloppy kisses between the three of them. And then later on it's Derek's turn to be in the middle and he almost loses it when he's got both their hands on him, one wrapped around and stroking him slowly, the other sliding inside him, scissoring him open.

When they're all sated and curled up together on Melissa's big bed, limbs all tangled up so that he doesn't know whose is where, Derek feels a measure of peace for the first time in a long time. He falls asleep to the rhythm of the hand stroking through his hair, and for once, he doesn't have nightmares.

 


	20. Parrish/Derek/Stilinski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: touchstarved!Sheriff

It’s Parrish who notices first, after all they do work in close quarters, but he thinks maybe he’s reading too much into it, so he pulls Derek aside after one of his ‘consultations’.

"You ever notice no one touches the Sheriff?"

Derek frowns, and Parrish thinks maybe he’s confused so the Deputy clarifies. “All of them, the kids, you, even your hot - but creepy- uncle are constantly touching each other. Hugs, high fives, heck I’ve even seen five of them all curled up together in the same bed.” And then Parrish realizes what he said and blushes fiercely. “Uh, not, you know, like _that_. But snuggling.”

Derek’s still frowning at him, and Parrish is maybe a little intimidated by the bigger man so he shrugs and mumbles something like, “It was just a thought” and he starts to step away, but Derek settles one of his large hands on Parrish’s shoulder.

The deputy’s heart skips a beat - because Derek startled him, no other reason - and he may or may not have jumped slightly, faintly, just the teeniest amount. Derek narrows his eyes down, and really, Hale isn’t that much taller than he is, but there’s something about him that makes him seem so much more.

"You have good instincts," is all the dark haired man says, and then he turns and leaves silently, and no, Parrish is _absolutely not_ checking out that perfect, god’s gift to the earth ass.

 

"Alright, what’s going on? Is there some sort of kanima magic hoodoo?"

"Uh, dad?"

"Both Hale and Parrish hugged me today, Stiles. Do you know how long it’s been since anyone but you hugged me? And now two in one day?"

"I swear dad, like that’s weird, but there’s been nothing on the supernatural radar." And then he blinks. "Wait, Hale - _Derek Hale - hugged you?”_

The Sheriff can hear the italics in his son’s voice. “Exactly.”

-

"I thought we were going out to dinner."

"We are out. And dinner is in there."

'There' turns out to be Parrish's apartment. And he's got wine poured and dinner cooking.

Derek hands the Sheriff a glass of wine and he arches a brow. “Are we celebrating something?”

"You." Parrish grins and comes out of the kitchen, lifts his glass to his boss’. "We just wanted you to know that you’re appreciated."

He has to blink his eyes rapidly a couple time because they start burning for some weird reason. And then clear his throat before he can speak. “Thanks, fellas. That’s really sweet of you.”

Derek lifts a smile to Parrish, who nods back, and pulls out a chair for the older man.  “Just relax, boss, I’ve got to check on the pasta.”

Derek leans down and whispers into the Sheriff’s ear. “He’s really picky about his cuisine.”

"I heard that, Hale!"

The Sheriff looks between them a moment. “You guys do this…often?”

"A couple times," Derek shrugs. "Something is always missing."

"Oh?" Stilinski arches a brow.

"You." Parrish winks as he comes into the room and settles the plates down.

-

"You can’t be serious. I’m old and you boys are, well, y’ain’t hard to look at."

"I think you underestimate yourself."

"We’re sure." Derek suits word to deed, by leaning in, real slow so he doesn’t spook the older man, and ever so gently pressing his lips to the Sheriff’s. Who makes this sort of broken sound that has Derek pulling back quickly in concern.

"No, it’s fine, you’re fine." He smiles sheepishly. "It’s just been, well a while since someone did that."

Parrish reaches out, gently cups the older man’s face. “You don’t have to.”

Instead of answering, the Sheriff leans in and tentatively kisses the deputy, soft and sweet. He’s treated to a soft smile as he pulls away, somewhat bashfully. “That’s it, boss.”

Why it’s _that_ word that makes the rest of his body join the party, he doesn’t know, but suddenly things downstairs are starting to pay attention, and the Sheriff is pretty sure he’s nowhere near ready to have that discussion.

He starts to say something to that effect, and then they’re kissing each other, right across his lap, and well, his brain derails for a minute.  By the time it’s back online, Derek is kissing him again, still the same, gentle and tender, no pressure.  But it’s Parrish’s hand at the nape of his neck, blunt nails gently scraping at his scalp that has him shivering and gasping.

He sees their eyes meet and the Sheriff has just enough time to wonder what they’re up to, when suddenly, there’s a set of lips pressing into the skin at either side of his neck, and Derek’s hand is running through his hair as well, only this time, he can feel the prick of claw, but not in a hurtful way, it feels amazing.

And then they start planting kisses along his neck, and it’s all _so much_ , everything he’s been missing since Claudia, and he just _melts_ , relaxes completely into their ministrations.  They keep it up for at least ten minutes, and the older man is basically floating when they pull away, Derek sliding an arm around him as Parrish puts on a John Wayne movie.

When he gets back to the couch, Parrish rests his head on the Sheriff’s shoulder, and reaches across the older man’s lap to twine his fingers with Derek’s.

The Sheriff closes his eyes and thinks maybe this is what Heaven feels like.


	21. Allydia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Platonic Allydia - Sleepover

“ALLY.”

Allison looked up from her locker, smiled brightly when she saw her best friend.

“Hey Lyds, how's it going?”

“Harris made us do a makeup lab over lunch, even though mine was perfect, and I broke a nail.” She flicked a long, strawberry blonde curl over her shoulder and pouted up at Allison a bit. “Also, I'm starving. Lets hit the mall after lacrosse practice?”

Allison nods, tilts her head. “Dad's out of town, I could stay over?”

Lydia beams brightly. “Perfect.”

-

“Why do we sit here and watch practice every day?” Lydia is doing Allison's math homework absently.

“I'm not...sure? We have been since I moved here though.”

“It's weird, right?” Lydia shrugs and flips the page. “I never thought about it before, it's not like Jackson cared if I was here.”

“Coach Finstock is entertaining at least.”

They both look up and watch him flip out about something, and devolve into a weird comparison of basketball and aliens.

“Was that...a Space Jam quote?”

“A what?” Lydia eyes Allison, who shrugs.

“Some movie dad used to watch. Anything with basketball in it.”

“Riiiight. Should I go with Oxblood or Elderberry?” Lydia studies her broke nail mournfully.

Allison shudder softly. “Lets avoid anything to do with blood, there's been enough of that lately.” She still has nightmares of being stabbed by the oni.

“Oh look, another fight.” Lydia is bored as she scribbles the last answer and folds Allison's homework away.

“Jackson and Isaac have been fighting a lot lately,” Allison muses.

“Boys are stupid,” Lydia responds primly, and the stands smoothing her skirt. “Mall time?”

-

They end up both getting full manicures and Allison goes with a gunmetal gray that matches her crossbow. Lydia goes with a dark shade of purple, and promptly buys herself a skirt to match.

She hands her dad's credit card over to the lady at the counter, then muses. “We should get a movie.”

Allison sighs. “I'm not watching The Notebook.”

Lydia blinks and then laughs. “God I hated that movie.”

Allison stops and turns to face, then bursts out laughing. “Oh my god. You made Jackson sit through that _how_ many times?”

Lydia's smile faded a bit. “Ally, darling, I know that you never had to worry about keeping up a reputation, but we did. We were the school's power couple, and to keep that, we had to fit into the already well-defined gender roles that were laid out for us.”

Allison frowns, tilts her head. “I'm not sure I-”

Lydia purses her lips, leans in and whispers. “I wasn't the one who loved The Notebook. _He was_.” And then she whirls, flounces off to the video store, Allison in tow.

-

They end up getting Divergent, curling up together on Lydia's bed to watch it on the tv in her room. Lydia produces a container of popcorn and Allison eyes it.

“They have _designer_ popcorn?”

The redhead glances away from the movie and nods. “They have designer everything.”

Allison takes a bite and wrinkles up her nose. “This is awful.”

Her best friend blinks and then reaches for a bite herself. She shakes her head. “Yeah, it kind of is.”

Allison rummages in her overnight bag and pulls out a folded package of microwave popcorn, arches in eyebrow in question.

Lydia sighs but nods. “Fine.”

-

They get about halfway through the movie before Lydia shuts it off.

Allison looks over to see the other girl gritting her teeth.

“Lydia?” Concerned, she rests a hand on the shorts girl's arm.

“Can you _believe_ this crap?” Lydia hops up and starts pacing, going on a lengthy diatribe about the parallels to the recent spate of anti-intellectualism, and the false equivalence between brilliance and emotional coldness, and Allison just blinks and lets her rant as she pulls the DVD out and tucks it away in her bag.

Allison kind of really liked it.

-

“I can't believe you won every single race.”

“Reflexes, Lyds. You react too slow.”

Lydia reaches over and pokes one manicured nail into the brunette's side, which causes her to twitch away and go off the side.

“Hey, that's so not fair. Especially on Rainbow Road.”

Lydia smiles sweetly and goes on to win.

“Strategy, Ally.”

Allison laughs and shakes her head. “I'm still going to win overall.”

“Whatever. C'mon lets get some ice cream.”

-

They ended up making banana splits, and Allison shows Lydia how her mom always used to do them. “They were her favorite.”

Lydia slides arms around her best friend and squeezes. “How _are_ you doing, sweetie?”

Allison sighs and rests the side of her head against Lydia's. “I miss her so much sometimes, Lydia. She's been the only constant thing in my entire life and someone I feel like a boat without an anchor.”

“Aw, sweetie, I'm so sorry.” Lydia squeezes. “You'll always have me.”

“Thanks.” They sit there for a minute, and then separate to eat their ice cream. Lydia puts on Mythbusters and spends the next half hour arguing with the tv.

Allison just smiles quietly and savors her dessert.

-

Allison's sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed reading a magazine while Lydia brushes her hair, when Mrs. Martin comes home.

“Hey, girls,” she smiles as she pokes her head in. “Don't stay up too late, there's a new farmer's market I want to go to in the morning, you can join me.”

Lydia leans around to look at Allison, who nods. “Sounds fun!”

“Mom's really big on the organic thing,” Lydia whispers as the older woman leaves, and she goes back to gliding the brush through dark locks.

“It's fine. Maybe I'll get some stuff, make the Pack zucchini bread or something.”

“Zucchini bread?” Lydia sounds horrified.

“Seriously?” Allison chuckles. “It's awesome.”

“Mmhmm,” Lydia shakes her head. “somehow I don't think so.”

“You'll see.”

“Whatever. You want braids?”

-

Later on, they curl into the bed together, Lydia's arm casually thrown across Allison's stomach, cheek resting on the taller girl's shoulder.

“You're the only best friend I've ever had, Ally,” she mumbles, half-asleep. “Don't leave me again.”

Allison closes her eyes, smooches the top of Lydia's head.

“Never again, Lyds. I promise.”


	22. Allydia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Allison dominating Lydia  
> Prompt: Allydia - pegging

Allison thinks Lydia looks beautiful like this, and she tells the younger girl so, running a thumb gently across the tear stained cheek. No one at school would recognize the primly perfect princess now.

Her delicately woven braids are mussed from Allison's rough grasps, makeup smeared from her tears, plump glossed lips stretched around the gag.

Allison pushes Lydia's head forward and the girl obeys immediately, folding herself over so that her forehead presses to the carpeted floor of her bedroom.

Allison likes to fuck Lydia with her clothes on, so the girl before her is wearing a button-up shirt and a skirt. Allison had long since torn the shirt open, reached inside and played with Lydia's breasts, rolling and tugging at her nipples while they watched a movie.

Of course, she'd given Lydia only one rule to obey during the movie.

_No moving._

The younger girl had done well, trembling and gasping but not shifting in Allison's lap. That is, until Allison had slid her hand under Lydia's skirt, felt the wetness between her legs. Allison had fit two fingers into Lydia easily, pulling them back out again to rub slick circles around the redhead's clit, repeating the maneuver over and over until Lydia was wriggling and making pleading noises behind the gag.

“I said not to move,” she had growled into the other girl' ear, but Lydia had not been able to control herself. And so here they are, Lydia kneeling at her feet after being dragged upstairs by her hair.

“I'm so disappointed,” Allison sighs, “and I had something special planned for tonight, too.”

Lydia whimpers again and Allison crouches down and tugs her head up, curving the other girl's spine in as she struggles to hold position. “Do you want your surprise tonight, kitten?”

Lydia nods as best she can, makes a soft noise behind the gag. Allison lets her go, watches as her head settle to the floor once again.

“Then you're going to have to take your punishment. Bad girls don't get special surprises.” Lydia nods again against the carpet, and Allison smiles.

“That's my girl.” She settles a bell in Lydia's hand, so she can signal if need be, and then Allison goes to her bag. She pulls out a leather crop and pushes the tip of it in Lydia's face.

The redhead presses her mouth to it, kissing it as best she can with the ball stretching her lips. Then Allison stalks around, uses the crop to slowly lift Lydia's skirt.

She strokes along the fabric parting the two soft, pale globes of flesh, and then takes a step back. Without warning, she flicks the crop at Lydia once, twice, three times, smirking as she sees the red blooming across tender skin. Lydia's yelling into the gag, but she hasn't rung the bell so Allison adds three more, knowing that Lydia will be feeling them at school tomorrow.

“Good girl,” Allison says with approval, settling the crop to the side to pet Lydia's hair softly. “You took your punishment so well for me. Yes, I think you've earned your surprise.”

Allison grabs a blindfold from her bag, ties it gently over Lydia's eyes, ignoring the squeaks of protest after checking to make sure the bell is still firmly grasped in the younger girl's hand.

“Hush, it wouldn't be a surprise if you see it first.”

Allison steps back and slowly removes her clothes, letting Lydia stew in her own anticipation. The brunette pulls a harness from her bag, sliding a nail along the attached dildo before fastening it into place.

Kneeling behind Lydia, careful to keep herself twisted slightly to the side, Allison grabs the waistband of Lydia' thong, tugs it slowly down until it's just under the curve of her ass.

She leans in and kisses each welt softly, and then extends her tongue, licks a stripe along the soft nether lips all the way along and across the tight pucker above.

Lydia squirms faintly and Allison pulls back to swat her lightly.

“No moving,” she says firmly, and Lydia whimpers but stills.

Allison gently slides two fingers along that same path, except stopping to curve them inside her sopping wet hole, grinning at the needy noise Lydia makes.

“Shh, kitten, I know, you want to get fucked so bad...” Allison chuckles low. “But I'm not going to fuck you.” She withdraws her fingers, smirking at the whimpers. “At least...not there.”

Her middle finger moves upward, swirls teasingly around the tight pucker above and then pushes in to the first knuckle. Lydia goes very, very still, and Allison's gaze glances to the bell before she continues.

“I bet you really like that idea, don't you?” She withdraws her finger and reaches for the bottle she had brought with her, squeezes some of the slick onto her fingers, and then returns them to Lydia's asshole, teasing at it gently.

“Anyone ever fucked your ass before?” Lydia doesn't respond and Allison pinches one of the welts. There's a squeak and then the younger girl shakes her head.

“Good, I'll be the first one then,” Allison murmurs as she slides her middle finger home, and this is like nothing she's ever felt before. It's not the accommodating softness that she's used to, this is a tight squeezing heat, and it's amazing.

She pulls her middle finger back out, adding another squirt of fluid, then gently pushes two fingers inside Lydia's tight entrance. Allison pulls them apart a little, and then a little more, working them to stretch Lydia, just like she'd seen on the video.

She's keeping a close eyes on Lydia, who's reacting now, hitching up ever so slightly when the fingers go in, rolling her hips unconsciously.

Allison gets three fingers in next, and she twists and turns and pulls them apart, and now she can really see Lydia getting into it, squirming enough that she earns herself another swat. The tell-tale flush of her arousal is painted across her fair skin, and Allison chuckle as she pulls her fingers away, starts slicking up the strap-on jutting out from her pelvis.

She watches the fluttering of Lydia's hole as she slides her hand along the hard shaft of the dildo, and then when she moves it, Allison discovers that it rubs against her clit just right. She spends a minute experimenting with that, while Lydia whimpers against the floor.

“Alright, kitten, here we go,” she murmurs soothingly to her girl, before kneeling behind Lydia and leaning in to push the blunt tip of the dildo against that still-tight hole.

Lydia makes a noise, and Allison flicks her gaze up, but Lydia pushes back in the next minute greedily and Allison shakes her head.

“No.” Swat. “Moving.” Swat.

“Next time, it's the crop,” she warns as she sinks another inch into Lydia.

She trembles but holds her place as Allison gradually feeds the entire strap-on into her, and there's awe in her voice as she praises Lydia.

“You took it all in, I'm so proud of you, what a good girl for me.” She pets her hands along the back of Lydia's shirt, peeling it up so that she can feel the skin beneath, and then gently sliding her hands along Lydia's skin.

“My perfect, perfect girl,” Allison breathes as her hands reach around to cup Lydia's breasts, kneading gently, thumbs rubbing along over-sensitive nipples. Her right hand releases, trails along the flat stomach, and then around the fabric of Lydia's skirt. Allison drags her nails lightly along Lydia's mound, then softly parts the lips below, gliding along the slippery skin until brushing the erect little nub.

Lydia jerks beneath her but Allison lets it slide, just starts rubbing in circles, varying pace and pressure until Lydia is trembling under her once again.

Allison pulls both hands away, leans back and curls them around Lydia' hipbones. Very slowly, she pulls the strap-on back out, all the way out, reaches to apply some more lube, and then slides it back in, the entire length. She repeats this a few times, and then starts fucking Lydia in earnest, snapping her hips forward and grinding her own clit onto the other end.

Allison can feel heat pooling in her own stomach but she wants Lydia to go first, so she snaps out a command that has Lydia's free hand sliding down between herself and the carpet.

Allison can tell the second she starts touching herself, because Lydia's hips start moving, tiny rolling increments as she fucks herself with her hand.

Allison keeps her pace steady until she hears a certain note in the whimpered voice, a desperate question behind the gag.

“Yeah, kitten,” Allison breathes, “Come for me.”

Lydia does with spectacular fashion, crying out into the gag as she stiffens and shakes apart beneath Allison.

The brunette fucks her ass the whole way through, and then, once Lydia is panting in her gag, moves in a slightly different way, alternating thrusting and grinding until she brings herself over the edge as well, rutting against Lydia's ass as she rides the waves of her own pleasure.

With a soft whimper of her own, Allison pulls the dildo out of her girl, wearily tugs the harness free from her body and collapses onto the floor next to Lydia.

With shaking fingers, Allison removes the gag, gathers Lydia into her arms and peppers her face with soft kisses. “So good for me,” she murmurs, stroking a hand through the strawberry blonde hair.

“Love you.”


	23. Lyrica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Erica as True Alpha

“You've tried this before, Erica, I don't remember you having much success.” Jennifer – Julia – the Darach – whatever she is says, her voice mocking, sneering, but Erica perseveres, slowly pushes her way through the mountain ash barrier as Derek looks on in disbelief.

There's a flash of light as the barrier snaps, and Erica's eyes flow from golden to bright red. She looks up through her lashes with a smirk as she realizes what's happened, tosses soft curls over her shoulder.

“I'm an Alpha now.”

Jennifer, whimpers, scrambles backwards, starts pleading for her life. Erica shakes her head, lists off all the crimes that this woman, this thing, has committed against her Pack as she stalks forward. And then she tears out the evil bitch's throat.

Erica steps back, and then thinks about Peter coming back from the dead, and then keeps going until the Darach's head is completely severed from her body.

_Try coming back from that, bitch._

Erica rounds on Deucalion, glances over to Derek and nods. He stalks to the “Demon Wolf” with her, and Derek starts to say something about his mother and Erica shakes her head.

“No, big brother, this is how it's got to be.”

Instead of grabbing Deucalion, Erica holds Derek in place, using newly acquired strength as Boyd steps from the shadows with the sword he'd borrowed from Allison.

“This is for Cora,” he growls and then the sword whistles through the air and the Demon Wolf's head goes flying.

Derek slumps in Erica's arms and she hugs him tighter, goes to the ground with him. “Shh, honey, I know.”

Boyd drops the sword with distaste, kneels and wraps his arms around the duo, and they stay like that for a long minute before Erica finally disentangles.

“You two, find the Nemeton, get our parents and Pack safe.”

She flexes her claws and growls.

“I've got a pair of twins to kill.”

-

“Erica, please.”

Lydia's got the new Alpha's face framed in her hands and she's forcing the girl to look at her.

“They don't need to die.”

Erica growls low, but her eyes blink back to their normal soft brown. “Lyds,” she says softly, tenderly, “they held Cora, forced her down onto Derek's claws, killed a Pack member. I can't let that go, I'm sorry.”

Lydia lets her hands fall away, but Erica lifts up the banshee's chin, kisses her softly, wipes her tears away. “I need to talk to Danny a minute, okay?”

Lydia nods and leans against the wall, crosses her arms. Erica can tel her girlfriend isn't happy, but Erica has to do what's best for the pack.

“Danny...” She hesitates, she doesn't know him that well, but Jackson is his best friend, and Danny's helped them so he's nominally pack.

“Yeah,” he says, looks away. “I know.” She can see his jaw working as he looks over Ethan's prone form, and then he looks at Lydia.

“I'll make sure she gets home safe.”

Erica nods. “Can you call Jackson for me, let him and his dad know that we're alright? Oh and Danny?” Erica flashes red eyes at him. “Make sure Peter knows I'm the Alpha now. He and I are going to have a long talk when they get back from Europe.”

Danny nods, and he and Lydia wander through the doorway.

Erica looks at the murder twins and growls low, claws and fangs extending.

-

Lydia is lying awake in bed when Erica climbs through her window, perches on the window seat.

“You gonna just watch me,” Lydia asks after a few moments of silence. “Because it's a bit creepy.”

“Creepy seems to be the default setting for werewolves.” Erica's tone is light, but as she crawls in with Lydia, the banshee can feel the wetness on her cheeks.

“Oh, baby,” she whispers softly, pulls the Alpha into her arms and holds tight. “I'm so sorry you had to do that.”

Lydia holds her as she cries it all out, cries for all the kids that died, for herself for the deaths she had caused, for Derek who only had his sister back for five minutes.

“Shh, it's alright, you did what you thought was best.”

Finally, Erica's sniffles cease and she ducks out of the bed to clean her face up with a wet cloth in the bathroom.

“Thank you, Lyds, you're the best thing in my life.”

Lydia tilts her head, strawberry blonde curls falling over a shoulder. “That is not the way you thank me properly, miss I-am-the-Alpha.”

Erica quirks a brow, a smirk slowly spreading across her lips, and she crawls back onto the bed. This time it's different, this time she's all predator as she climbs on top of Lydia, pulls her arms up to pin them over her head.

“Really.” Erica buries her nose in the crook of the banshee's neck, inhales the scent of Lydia, of home, of Pack, and feels something shredded in her soul start to heal. “Why don't you tell me _exactly_ how I can thank you.”

Lydia turns her head, whispers into Erica's ear at length.

The Alpha can't help it, she tosses her head back and laughs.

“As you wish, my lady,” she grins, letting go of Lydia's wrists and sliding her hand down the banshee's arms.

Slowly, teasingly, she trails her fingers lightly over the soft skin, leaning in to kiss Lydia gently, and then climbs lightly off the bed.

“Be right back, princess.”

Lydia props herself up on her elbows, watches Erica pop out the bedroom door with a soft smile on her face.

Erica returns ten minutes later with two bowls of ice cream, chocolate with whipped cream on top, Lydia's favorite, and crawls into bed with her.

Lydia pops open her laptop and puts something on Netflix, curls into Erica's side as the eat their dessert together.

When the episode is over, Lydia turns to look at Erica, kisses her cheek.

“It's all going to be okay. You're going to be a great Alpha.”

Erica smiles, a bit shyly, and looks at her girlfriend. “You really think I can do it, Lyds?”

“Of course. You're the strongest person I know. Plus, you've got me to tell you when you fuck up.”

Erica laughs and pulls Lydia into a hug.

“Yeah. We're all gonna be okay.”


	24. Allyra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: lydia/allison/kira- trans* au
> 
> Warning for Stiles being an asshole to a transgender Kira.

It's Stiles who finds out Kira's secret, practicing newly acquired hacking skills, doing background checks on his friends. For a minute, he feels like he used to know someone who would do that for him, but the memory fades and Stiles shakes his head as the idea trickles away.

He finds a hospital stay, a series of them, major surgeries it looks like, and then there's an old archive without updated birth certificates, and it's all laid out in front of him.

Stiles impresses himself with his thoroughness sometimes, and so he's smug when he heads to the pack meeting, thinking they'll have this inside secret, and she'll be amazed that he found out. Stiles is waiting for her, vibrating in his seat, until she comes in, and the he lifts his face up, throws her a wink and says, “Hi, Kevin.”

What he hadn't been expecting was that she'd freeze and burst into tears, and run in the back room, or that Malia, his Malia – _wait there's something not right_ – no lost it, _his_ Malia would round on him and start growling.

“Whoa,” he says, lifting his hands in confusion, “what the hell?”

“Seriously. Dick move, dude.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Scott. “Wait, dude, you _knew_?”

“Of course,”Scott nods, “I'm her Alpha, she trusts me.”

“Why didn't anyone tell me?”

“Because you're an ass.” Stiles glares at Peter, who's apparently never going to get over lurking in the shadows. “Because we all knew you'd hurt Kira if you knew. And so you have.”

Stiles scoffs. “I was just joking with her. I have, like, a ton of drag queen friends from the Jungle, I'm cool with it.”

“Go home, Stiles, get on your computer and do some research. And when you can tell me why what you've done is wrong, you can come back.”

“Really, Scott, you're gonna go there? Gonna banish me from the Pack?”

Scott flashes red eyes and nods firmly.

-

Kira runs off crying and Lydia immediately follows her into the guest bedroom, pulls the unresisting girl into her arms and holds her there.

Allison comes in shyly a minute later, shuts and locks the door behind her. “Hey, sweetie,” she says softly, “You okay?”

Kira shakes her head. “He's gonna tell everyone, and he's going to bring it up every time, and I wanted so bad for us to be friends for Scott, but he's just so _mean_.” Kira hiccups and Lydia shushes her, pets a hand through the long straight dark hair.

“I'm not sure, I understand?” Allison begins, but stops as Lydia shakes her head.

“Come here, Ally, Kira needs some love.”

Allison's eyes widen at Lydia's phrasing, and then dart to Kira. “You sure?”

Lydia nods, and the taller brunette climbs onto the bed on the opposite side of Kira, slides her arms around on top of Lydia's and they just hold the kitsune for a few minutes.

Lydia takes initiative, kisses Kira's cheek softly, then kisses again, halfway to her lips, and then another at the corner of Kira's mouth.

“L-Lydia?” Kira's eyes go wide.

Instead of an answer, Lydia reaches across and tugs Allison close, kisses her just a few inches away from Kira.

“Oh my god, you guys.”

Kira blinks as Lydia turns her face, leans in close to brush her lips over the kitsune's. Kira freezes.

“You are a beautiful and wonderful _girl_ , Kira Yukimura, and Allison and I are going to show you that.”

Kira lets herself be gently tugged back by Allison, squirms slightly as the older girl presses her lips to the kitsune's neck.

“I've never-” She starts, dark eyes flicking to Lydia, then hesitating.

Lydia tilts her head. “Is this okay? You okay with me and Ally?”

“Y-Yeah, I think- Yeah.” She breathes out as Allison nips at her ear.

“The second you feel uncomfortable, just say so. You're safe with us, sweetheart.”

Kira nods and Lydia props herself up on her side, turns the younger girl's face to her and starts kissing, gentle, soft presses of lips.

Kira makes a soft noise as Allison licks a stripe across her neck to kiss the crook of her neck, tugging the collar of her shirt down to trace Kira's collarbone with her tongue.

“Oh!” Kira gasps and shifts upwards.

Lydia takes advantage of the younger girl's parted lips to licks her tongue across them, flicking it into Kira's mouth to touch against the kitsune's tongue before pulling back.

“Still okay?” Kira nods, three times fast, swallowing hard as Allison nips at her skin again.

“Ally's a biter but she won't hurt you,” Lydia murmurs, “unless you want her to.”

Kira giggles nervously and Lydia distracts her with more kisses as her hand rucks up Kira's shirt and slides underneath. Lydia traces her nails lightly across the smooth skin, causing a giggle and a shiver.

Allison sits up, turns a grin to Lydia, then back to Kira. “Kira, Yukimura, are you _ticklish_?”

Her eyes open wide and she shakes her head, but it's too late, as both girls team up against her. Before too long, peals of laughter are ringing out, and it's not until she's breathless and smiling that the older duo relent and leave her alone.

“Better?” Lydia grins and snuggles up to Kira's side.

Kira nods after a minute and smiles, wide and bright. “Yeah, much better.”

“Good, and Kira?” Allison lifts up on her elbow and catches the kitsune's eye. “Don't you worry about Stiles. I will handle him.” Her gaze turns from soft and caring to hard and steely.

Kira nods and smiles shyly. “Thank you, girls.”

Lydia props herself up too. “Any time, sweetie, and I would be more than happy to continue this somewhere less...somebody else's house, okay?”

Kira bites her lips and nods. “I think.. I might like that too.”

“Good, shall we get back to the meeting?”

The girls help fix her shirt and hair, Allison wipes her tears with a cloth, and when they go back into the other room, they each hold one of Kira's hands in theirs.

-

After the pack meeting, Peter pulls Kira aside, slides her a business card.

Kira blinks wide-eyed at him, still nervous about the undead wolf, and he looks at her a long minute, and there's something in his eyes she can't quite read.

“Human doctors can only do so much.”

With a cryptic half-smirk, Peter vanishes into the shadows.

Kira blinks again, and then looks at the card, smiling slowly. For the first time in a long time, Kira feels loved and accepted for who she is.

-

Stiles shows up on her doorstep with flowers and a brand new blade sharpener, and promises to do better.

He keeps his promise.


	25. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steter - Tourist/Knowledgeable Local AU

Peter settles the last bottle of spices carefully into the cloth bag, hands the requisite amount of Euros over to the woman with a wink and an extended thank you in his fluent  _Deutsch_  . She shooes him off, but with a twinkle in her eyes, and he is smiling as he turns away, walks further along the _Naschmarkt_  . He’s been in Vienna for five years now, grateful every day for the move, and he’d subsumed himself so much that he thought of himself as a native.

So when someone bumps into him, and mutters an apology in American English, Peter thinks nothing of responding in German, something a fair bit uncomplimentary. That is, until he looks up and sees the person who so thoughtlessly knocked into him, and stops in his tracks.

Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe the boy, with his eyes that seem to hold every shade from a soft golden to a rich brown, and the delicate moles that dot his skin like constellations, the lips that seem made for kissing and-

Peter forcefully shakes himself back to reality as the young man rambles. “-looking at the map, trying to find where the fruit is, and you probably don’t understand a word I’m saying, which is why you’re staring at me like I’m an idiot. It’s just this place doesn’t make any sense and Dad was right that I should find a local guide but I wanted to explore on my own, and yeah so that happened, okay. So yeah, bye.”

“You are lost?” Peter says after a minor heart attack when the younger man turns to leave.

“Oh my  _GOD_ , you speak English, you’re amazing, look can you just tell me where to find the strawberries? Apparently there supposed to be the best here, but you’d know that being a native and all. Wait, is native offensive?”

Somehow it’s charming rather than annoying, and Peter is self-aware enough to know that it has everything to do with how pretty the guy is.

“ _Ja_ , yes,” he says, affecting an accent. “I can help you.” He tucks his arm in the kids and steers him opposite of the way Peter had been going. “My name is Peter.”

He learns that the guy’s name is Stiles, that he’s just graduated college and decided to backpack through Europe, apparently he got the idea from some old movie.

Peter also learns that the kid is staying at a youth hostel, and so he invites Stiles to sleep in his guest bedroom for the three days he will be in town.

Over a glass of wine in front of the fireplace, Stiles confesses that he ran into Peter on purpose, hoping to catch his eye. But as he sets his glass down and falls to his knees in front of Peter, and demonstrates that yes, those lips  _are_  perfect, Peter finds he doesn’t mind at all.

  


_Alternate Ending:_

_Over a glass of wine in front of the fireplace, Stiles confesses that he ran into Peter on purpose, hoping to catch his eye. But as he straddles Peter’s lap, as the older man begins to realize that he can’t move his limbs, Stiles makes another confession._

_"I’ve been looking for you a long time, Peter Hale."  He presses the lips that Peter had to ardently admired to the older man’s neck and then lips, as he slowly slid a dagger into Peter’s heart._


	26. Stetopher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: waking up with amnesia au

Peter opens his eyes, stares at a ceiling he doesn’t recognize. He starts to move, finds himself pinned and struggles a bit. A dual pair of groans reaches his ears, two distinct separate voices. Peter shifts again, shoves with more strength than he realized he had, and there’s a thump as someone hits the floor.

“Son of a bitch,” the reedier voice yells and Peter winces. Not a nice way to wake up, he’s sure.

He pulls himself out from under the other person, scoots over to maybe help the one he pushed off the bed, but suddenly, there’s the unmistakable sound of the safety being clicked off a gun.

“Who the hell are you?” grates out a rough voice and Peter turns slowly to look over the one holding the gun on him.

Well, Peter can definitely see why he was in bed with the man. “Apparently, your lover,” Peter drawls as he carelessly leans back against the bedframe, nostrils flaring to confirm his statement with scent.

“A werewolf,” the man says derisively, and Peter tilts his head, eyes flashing blue a moment.

How  _very_  interesting, he thinks.

“Oh my  _fucking_  god,” the voice from the floor says, and the man with the gun moves around the bed, keeping it trained on Peter.

“Who the hell are you?” he asks the other human- no wait. Peter leans forward, eyes focused on the amber ones that flick from the tall man to the werewolf in bed.

“Witch,” Peter says flatly, and the kid recoils.

“ _Druid_ , thank you very much,” he all but sneers at Peter, and then flicks his gaze to the other man, and the gun goes flying across the room. “And my name is Stiles.”

“Chris,” the hunter ( _has to be!_ ) says after a moment, with obvious reluctance. “And why the hell would I be fucking a wolf and a druid? I’m a _hunter_.” He seems to be talking to himself.

Peter gives himself a mental pat on the back, and then reaches out to the boy, eyes travelling over the pale skin as he helps the druid off the floor. “I apologize for pushing you, it was not intentional.”

He reaches out and traces a series of marks on Stiles’ neck. “My inner wolf is very certain that those are mine.”

Stiles shivers and there are silvery-purple flickers in his eyes as he nods. “I can see the bond between the three of us, but there’s an overlying spell.” He shakes his head in frustration. “But I have no memory of how to break it, or how to do anything really.”

Peter nods. “I know I’m a wolf, and I can feel that you’re my mates, but other than that, nothing.”

He tugs Stiles closer without thinking, and the young man, nestles back into him, both sets of supernatural eyes watching the human pace.

“He is really not taking this well, is he?”

Chris rounds on the duo snuggling in bed, but before he can say anything, the door bursts in and an Alpha werewolf, flanked by a blue eyed beta and a woman with a sword, lands inside snarling.

Then his eyes widen in shock, and he quickly looks away, as does the beta. The girl gasps and covers her eyes.

“Ah, this must be our pack,” Peter murmurs to Stiles, who affirms it, seeing the pack bonds.

“You guys are really not going to be happy when the fairy powder wears off,” Scott mutters.


	27. Chrisaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: FAKE RELATIONSHIP CHRISAAC

>  

“I, kind of,” Isaac rubs the back of his neck, looks up at Chris through those long lashes, “told them I was seeing someone.”

“And?” Chris crosses his arms and does his best to remain stern, because all he ever wanted to do was spoil Isaac.

“And, they want me to bring him to the company Christmas party.”

“I see.” And Chris does. Isaac has trust issues, and he’s very protective of his privacy. “And you’re  _here_  because?”

“I kinda wondered if…?” Isaac looks at him, big blue eyes pleading and Chris is confused as to why.

“If what?”

Isaac takes a deep breath. “You, Chris. Pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Both eyebrows loft and Chris takes a step backward. “Me?!” He can’t process this. “Don’t you want Scott or Stiles or even Derek? Someone your age? I’m old, Isaac, there’s gray in my beard, I have a bad knee, why would anyone think that someone as gorgeous as you would date an old grouch like me?”

Isaac’s eyes widen and a rush of color spreads across his cheeks at being called ‘gorgeous’, and he dips his chin and looks up at Chris shyly through his lashes.

“Please, Chris, it’s you I want.” Before Chris can protest anymore, Isaac hurriedly adds the one thing he knows will get the hunter to agree. “You’re the only one I trust.”

How can Chris say no to that?

-

Isaac opens the door the night of the party to find Chris in a perfectly tailored suit, leaning against Derek’s Camaro.

“…wow,” Isaac manages after a minute, and Chris grins.

“I figured the Camaro would be more fun than the SUV.” Chris winks and then turns to open to car door for Isaac, and the blonde catches sight of the way those suitpants curve around Chris’ perfect ass and he swallows hard.

It’s going to be a long evening.

-

Isaac sighs happily, a few glasses of champagne bubbling in his system, not nearly enough to get a wolf drunk, but enough to relax him. Chris has been amazing this evening, charming everyone, and Isaac can see the successful businessman behind the hunter, a side he’s never seen before.

Somehow it just makes him fall even more helplessly in love with the man. Eight years now, he’s been holding onto that secret.

Chris slides his hand in Isaac’s, tugs him out to the dancefloor for the last dance, but Isaac hesitates. “I can’t dance!”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Isaac shivers faintly, “it’s a slow dance, just do what I do.”

And then Isaac’s pressed up against Chris, full body, and Chris’ large strong hand is pressing into the small of his back, and Isaac’s never going to forget this moment in his entire life.

He closes his eyes and curls into Chris, lays his head on the older mans’ shoulder and breathes Chris’ scent in, just savours this moment.

Chris moves just right, and Isaac feels the hard line of the older man’s cock against his leg, lifts his face in surprise to look into the other’s eyes. Chris’ lips thin and he immediately moves back a half-inch. “I’m sorry, Isaac,” he whispers, “I know it’s not appropriate but you look so good tonight… I can leave if you want.”

That is the last thing Isaac wants, but he’s not good with words, so he surges up, presses his lips to Chris’, tries to say everything he feels with that kiss. It seems to work, because Chris is looking down at him with a promise in his eyes that’s never been there before.

“How about we go home?” Chris asks, and Isaac smiles and nods.

“I can’t think of anyplace I’d rather be.”


	28. Melisserek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Melissa/Derek one night stand and falling pregnant au

“Derek?” Melissa leans her head against the open door, surprised at who was on the other side. “Scott’s not home.”

“I know. I brought you this.” He shoves a bottle of wine at her almost as if it offends him. “To say thank you. For helping.” He shifts back and forth. “You do a lot for us, Mrs. McCall, for the pack, and I – we – appreciate it.”

She smiles brightly and steps back. “Melissa, please. Come in, sweetie.”

“Oh no, I-”

“You can, and you will. In, Derek.” Melissa fixes him with a  _look_ , and Derek looks at his feet and nods, comes in and sits down on the couch.

“Relax, I’m not going to bite,” Melissa jokes as she comes into the room with a glass for both of them. Derek’s ears flush a bit as that brings up an interesting mental picture, and he clears his throat and nods, taking the glass. And then his eyebrow loft as a small packet of herbs lands next to the glass.

“I can’t be the only to enjoy this wine fully.” She tilts her head, dark curls falling over her shoulder, and Derek smiles slowly, a real, genuine smile.

“Thanks.”

-

They finish the whole bottle together, talking, finding they have a fair amount in common. At least enough to keep them in conversation. And then when Melissa rises to go get another, trips and almost falls, and Derek’s catching her in his arms, it’s enough to have her kissing his cheek in thanks, and then somehow his lips, and the next thing they know, clothes are flying everywhere, and she’s pinning him to the bed.

-

Melissa groans as she gradually awakens, tugging a hand free from underneath the man next to her

_Wait, the man?_

“Oh my god,” she gasps as she sits straight up, looks over to see the hazel eyes looking at her, wide open and unguarded like they so seldom are.

“You okay?” Derek asks softly, offering his hand.

Melissa can’t hurt him, and so she puts her hand in his, and nestles down against his side. She’ll never let this happen again, but Melissa will give Derek this moment.

-

It takes her eight weeks to realize, and then she’s shaking as she purchases the test, crying as she sets it down on the counter with it’s damning positive result glaring at her.

“Derek, we need to talk.”

-

“I don’t have a lot of family left.” Derek is earnest as he holds her hands. “But this is your decision, not mine. Either way, I will take care of everything.”

Melissa sighs, nods softly.

“You’d better call your Alpha.”


	29. Argelinski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chris/Stiles, meeting in prison au
> 
> Warnings: Feminization, Non-Con, Anal Fingering, Marking

Chris is a bounty hunter who’d pissed off a few too many people, and so when they’d finally caught up to him, he’d been put away for life.

Two years after he’s first incarcerated, Chris Argent gets a new roommate, and he’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as the kid walks in.

Chris thanks whatever gods there are that’re still favoring him, because this kid is fucking  _beautiful_.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty lil thing,” Chris drawls, letting his gaze roam possessively over the lean form, wide, amber eyes with long lashes, lips that look made for sin.

The kid just stares at Chris, unblinking, and it’s a bit creepy. But Chris is made of sterner stuff, so he arches a brow and meets that empty gaze with a hard look of his own.

Then the kid smiles, and it’s off,  _wrong_ , but he throws the blanket on the bottom bunk and nods to Chris.

“Stiles.”

 

Chris has been waiting for the lights out, and as soon as the guards are gone, as soon as other noises fill the quiet prison air, he slides from his bunk, intent on overwhelming the younger man hs with greater strength.

Stiles is waiting for him.

Somehow, Chris ends up being the one pinned to the mattress, Stiles’ hot breath against his neck.

“Oh, Chrissy, you picked the wrong guy, baby…”

He doesn’t even know how the kid managed to get zipties and lube within the first few hours of being here, but he has, and he uses them to good effect, securing Chris to the bed regardless of the fight he puts up, and the warning he gives Stiles as to what will happen when he’s freed.

Stiles laughs, wicked and low, just tugs Chris’ pants down and drips the slick down the cleft of his ass. Chris keeps threatening while Stiles slides two fingers inside him unceremoniously, snarls when the kid languidly fucks the fingers into him, then pulls them apart to stretch him open. Chris doesn’t stop until Stiles crooks his fingers and rubs the against the older man’s prostate. Then, he shuts right up, sets his jaw and doesn’t make a sound.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for me now, Chrissy, aren’t you?” Stiles drapes himself across Chris’ back and murmurs in his ear. “We’ve got all night, baby.”

Stiles spends the next hour marking Chris up, hickeys and bite marks in obvious places, while continually finger fucking the man, keeping Chris on the edge of orgasm.

“Now, baby girl, you’re going to beg me to fuck you, or you’re gonna be riding this edge  _all.. night.. long.”_

-

In the end, Chris breaks. Stiles makes Chris beg for over an hour before he finally presses himself within the loose, sloppy hole.

“Oh don’t stop now, Chrissy, I want to hear your voice while I’m fucking you. You stop…” He pulls back, completely out of Chris. “..and I’ll stop.”

-

When he’s done, when Stiles has finally filled Chris with his come, he holds himself inside the older man, frees Chris’ hands just long enough to bind them behind him, then manouevers the both of them onto the bed.

Stiles wraps his arms around Chris and lets his hands roam, teasing and touching, until Stiles feels himself stiffening inside the older man again.

He fucks Chris over and over, the last time just close enough to morning call that Chris doesn’t have time to clean up, has to go through his morning with Stiles’ come leaking out of him, with Stiles’ marks all over him.

Everyone knows Chris belongs to Stiles now.


	30. Chrisaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: nanny/single parent au

“Just drop her off at the bus stop at ten, she’ll be gone for two weeks, make sure to go over the packing list one more time.”

Isaac nods as he hands Mr. Argent his morning coffee and paper. “She’ll get off to summer camp just fine, you get on to the office, there’ll be a casserole waiting when you get home.”

Chris Argent smiles at Isaac and nods. “Thanks, Isaac. Enjoy your vacation.”

Isaac settles at the kitchen island, wraps his hands around his coffee, and watches the his employer walk down the sidewalk to his car. Isaac mentally thanked Chris’ tailor for those pants, and then turns back to get the dishes done before Ally gets up.

-

Isaac gets Ally to summer camp, last minute worries and double-checks that she has her pet wolf and promises to write letters all experienced and handled. And then he goes back to the Argent’s house and puts the casserole together for Mr. Argent, complete with cooking instructions.

It’s kind of a mess, so Isaac spends a few hours cleaning. He feels icky afterward, so he jumps in the shower right quick, grabbing a clean pair of Mr. Argent’s boxers to tug on, and tosses his things in the wash. He’s done this before, just shoves the borrowed boxers into the basket to be washed when he’s done.

He’s got a few hours left, so after the puts his clothes in the dryer, Isaac sets the alarm on his phone, and stretches out on the bed in the guest room for a quick nap.

-

Chris is somewhat depressed as he puts the key in the lock, wanders into the dark, lonely house. Ally’s away for weeks, and Isaac’ll be off on his vacation, so Chris will be on his own. He heads right into the shower, throwing on just a pair of pajama pants as he wanders out.

He noticed the door to the guest room is closed, and so he goes over to open it, stopping in his tracks as he sees Isaac laying there, in nothing but a pair of Chris’ boxers.

Pale, blue eyes travel the miles of pale skin on display, and Chris thinks about how it would look all marked up, wonders how it would feel to have a fistful of those golden locks holding Isaac in place. Chris is half-hard already and yet he can’t take his eyes away. He shuffles a few more steps into the room, freezing as Isaac shifts in his sleep, stretches and turns over. And now Chris is imagining biting down on those nipples, and wrapping his hand around the cock clearly outlined against Isaac’s leg.

Suddenly the big blue eyes fly open and Isaac gasps as he sits up. “Oh my god, what time is it.”

“Nearly nine,” Chris murmurs, forcing himself to retreat backward a step.

“Oh I am so sorry, Mr. Argent,” Isaac swings his legs over the side of the bed, blushing as he remembers what he’s wearing.

Chris nods, a heartbeat too late, clears his throat, as his eyes travel down, note which pair Isaac’s wearing. He’ll rescue those from the hamper later.

Isaac looks up at Chris through his lashes, and then down, and that’s when he sees the tent at the front of Chris’ lounge pants, and those gorgeous eyes flick back up, startled.

“Mr. Argent?”

Chris takes another step back, mumbling something vaguely resembling an apology, and then flees through the door, heads right to his bedroom. He sits on his bed and buries his face in his hands, now he’s going to have to find someone new to take care of Ally.

“ _Chris_.”

Chris looks up to see Isaac just a few inches in front of him, and as his eyes rake over the planes of Isaac’s body, the younger man steps forward, cups Chris’ face in his hands. Chris looks up, eyes slowly fluttering shut as their lips meet.

“Isaac,” Chris breathes as the younger man pulls away. “Don’t leave.”

“Shh,” Isaac murmurs as he climbs onto the bed, pulls Chris into him. “I’m not going anywhere.”


	31. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: soulmates au

>  

“Love spells don’t work,” Stiles scoffs, side-eying Lydia and Kira flipping through a spell book.

“Then there’s no reason not to try one.” Lydia purses her lips and hands the book to Stiles.

“Said every victim in every horror movie  _ever_!” But he takes the book and rolls his eyes. “No such thing as soulmates either.”

“Well, Kira and I want to try it, don’t we, Kira?”

“Um.”

“She’s in.”

Stiles grumbles but he’s never been able to tell Lydia no, so he gets the supplies, bowls of water for each one of them, candles, and some needles.

Kira gulps as she looks at the needles, but Stiles winks at her. “You won’t even feel it.”

They all let a drop of blood fall in the water, then Stiles reminds them that they have to use their spark of belief, to really wish that this will work.

They say the magic words in unison as they drip the candle wax into the water. The resulting image is supposed to tell them something about their soulmate.

Lydia and Kira peer at their bowls, and then each others.

“That could be a flower,” Lydia points to Kira’s, who shrugs.

Lydia looks up to get Stiles opinon, but he’s fixated on his bowl.

“Stiles, what do you see?”

Lydia leans over to look into the bowl, but there’s nothing but a ring that the candle wax has formed.

“I guess whoever is gonna put a ring on it.”

Stiles huffs a laugh and forces a smile. “Yeah.” But he looks at the bowl for a few minutes longer before he dumps it out.

-

“Why are you drawing Peter?”

Stiles looks up slowly, eyes flaring and heartbeat jackrabbiting. “Excuse me?”

Derek pulls out an old, beat-up photo out of his wallet, and there’s no denying that the face he had seen inside that ring of wax, that face that he’d been painstakingly recreating in pencil, is the same.

“Son of a bitch.”

-

“Stiles. Why are you here?”

“Do you have any pictures of yourself in high school?”

Peter blinks at the boy in his doorway. “I believe I do.”

Stiles lofts his brows, then pushes past Peter, dropping his bag on the floor. “Where are they?”

“Apparently, you’re staying.” Peter closes the door, wondering when everyone stopped being terrified of him. “In the vault, of course.”

“No, you have one here.”

Peter arches a brow, idly considering and then nods. “I have one family photo on the wall I nthe guest room.”

Stiles is down the hallway before Peter finishes talking, and by the time the wolf thinks to follow, Stiles has the picture on the bed, and he’s unfolding a piece of paper next to it.

“Stiles.”

The boy holds up a hand, and Peter starts really regretting not killing him.

“I did a spell to find my soulmate.” Peter snorts in derision but Stiles keeps going.

“I had a vision, and I drew it.” He lifts the paper up, almost smacking Peter in the face with it. The wolf takes it and looks at a drawing of himself, at a younger age. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Tell me about it.” He looks up at Peter. “I’m…not sure what to do with this information.”

Peter eyes the bed and then turns to let his gaze rake over Stiles. “I’m beginning to have plenty of ideas.”


	32. Sherrish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: one night stand and falling pregnant au

 

Parrish had become used to the Sheriff inviting him in for a beer as he dropped the older man off at the end of the night. Most times he refused, but on really rough nights, he came in for one before heading to his own tiny, lonely apartment. This one was the roughest yet, and when the Sheriff pulled out a bottle and poured shots instead of grabbing a couple cold ones, Jordan doesn’t bat an eye, just tosses it back.

“You gonna be alright, Parrish?” The Sheriff knows about his nightmares.

Jordan shrugs. He’s empty, feels hollowed out. These are the nights the desert comes back to haunt him. He puts his glass down for another, Stilinski pours it without a word.

Leaning back in his chair, the Sheriff drinks his shot and then studies it a long moment. “Why don’t you crash here?”

The Stilinski house is just as empty.

Jordan considers the dark coldness of home with the warmth spreading through his veins, and the thought of not being alone.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

They keep drinking.

-

Parrish wakes up screaming in a place he doesn’t know, it smells wrong, but suddenly there are two strong arms around him, deep voice murmuring in his ear.

“It’s alright Parrish, you’re alright.”

As soon as he can breathe normally, Jordan turns to look at his boss, smiles his thanks. The older man’s gaze flicks down to his lips, and suddenly there’s a different kind of warmth in his gut.

“Sir?” Jordan questions softly, and he watches as Stilinski’s pupils dilate, as a possessive spark flares in those blue eyes. And then the Sheriff blinks and turns his face away, and Parrish knows he’s being given the out, the ‘nothing happened’ option.

He doesn’t want it.

Jordan reaches out and pulls the older man back to him.

“Parrish-”

Jordan doesn’t let him finish, just crushes his lips against the Sheriff’s artlessly, with more purpose than style, but it gets his point across.

Stilinski pulls back after a minute and then chuckles low. “I am too old to do this here.” And he pulls Parrish up and leads him into the bedroom.

-

It’s a week later when Jordan finds out he’s on a supernatural hit list,  _that he’s something supernatural_ , and gets attacked by someone looking for money. His car explodes and he survives the flames, more than survives, is unharmed by, but the werewolves drag him to get looked after by Dr. Deaton.

“I know very little about phoenix physiology,” he says, “but it appears that you cannot be burned, or harmed in anyway by fire or percussive force. Which is fortunate, given your condition.”

Jordan arches a brow. “I don’t follow.”

Deaton pauses. “You were unaware that you were pregnant?”

Parrish rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Jokes are really not what I need right now.”  
“Deputy Parrish, I assure you this is no joke.”

“How can I?” He thinks about the one time in years he’s been with someone, swallows hard. “I mean, I’m male.”

“You  _present_  as male, likely an adaptation to fit in among humans. Phoenox are monogendered.”

Jordan is silent a long time. “What.. what should I do?”

Deaton hands Parrish his cell. “I think you better call the Sheriff.”


	33. Stetopher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: soulmates au

“You can’t  _have_  two soulmates!” Stiles is up in Peter’s face yelling, arms gesticulating wildly, and the older man simply arches a brow.

“Apparently, we can.” Peter doesn’t care about the laws of magic or the Balance or any of that stupid bullshit. What bothers Peter is that he  _likes_  things the way they are with Chris. He doesn’t want some stupid, spastic kid fucking everything up.

But there’s no denying that the newly acquired tattoo matches his and Chris’ exactly, to the last detail.

“I want to see it again.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but tugs his shirts off, tosses them on the bed, and stands patiently while Peter runs his thumb over the mark. He kind of gets it, it’s  _impossible_.

Which is why he’s here. The second he’d seen it in the mirror, excitement had turned to panic, and Stiles had headed straight to Chris and Peter’s apartment.

“I don’t understand,” Peter murmurs, his lips only a few inches from Stiles as he studied the mark.

Stiles thinks, what the hell, and leans in, kisses Peter.

The werewolf doesn’t respond for a minute, and then he does, taking the lead, free hand sliding around the small of Stiles’ back, the other still stroking the mark.

Naturally, this is the point when Chris comes home. Stiles knows this because there’s the very cold barrel of a gun right in the small of his back.

Peter opens his eyes as Stiles stiffens, sees icy cold blue ones of rage behind the boy. Peter tilts his head, arches a brow and spins Stiles, pulling the younger man’s head back so the he arches his body.

Stiles squeaks as he is manhandled, has an argument with his dick that he loses, and finds himself in the weird position of having two men’s hands on him at the same time.

Chris traces the mark, ignoring Stiles’ shiver and looks at Peter. “Its genuine.”

The werewolf nods. “So it would seem.”

Chris slides the barrel of his gun along Stiles’ sternum and then down along the kid’s chest and abs, stopping at the waistline of his pants.

Stiles feels his cock harden in his jeans and thinks he really needs to work on that whole inappropriate danger boner thing.

“Can we keep him?” Peter murmurs over Stiles’ shoulder, watching Chris intently.

“Hi, I’m right here.”

“You want a pet, Peter, I’ll get you a dog.”

“Mm, I bet Stiles would be a cute little puppy.”

Stiles knows  _exactly_  what they’re talking about, he’s seen videos, okay, and he is  _so_  not into that kind of thing. Except, he’s kinda thinking about it now, and maybe he is because his dick’s just getting harder, and whoa, yes,  _that is Chris Argent’s hand cupping him_.

Stiles is only human,  _of course_  he arches into that, and he hears Peter’s low chuckle in his ear.

“You’ll be a good pup for us, won’t you Stiles?”

And then Chris is unzipping, and Peter’s tugging, and Stiles is naked before he knows it, with Peter’s mouth at his neck, and Chris’ hand wrapped around Stiles’ dick, and yeah okay, maybe he can live with the idea of two soulmates.

-

A couple hours later Stiles is passed out between them, Peter wrapped possessively around the younger man.

Chris chuckles softly at the two of them as he gets up and tugs his jeans on.

“Where are you going, Christopher?”

“I’m about to have the most awkward conversation of my life with the Sheriff.”


	34. Argelinski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: boss/intern au

“Stilinski!”

Stiles jumps and bobbles the coffee in his hands, manages to dump the boiling hot liquid down the front of his dress shirt.

“Son of a-” It's his third day as an intern for Argent industries, and he's managed to fuck something up each day. And there's no way to get this one past the boss, because he's standing outside the door to his office, those unreadable ice-blue eyes boring into Stiles.

“Office, now.”

Stiles gulps and quick steps in as Chris shuts and locks the door behind him, closes the blinds.

“Please, Mr. Argent, it was an accident, I didn't mean to-”

“Hush, Stiles.” And it's said in a tone so different from the barking orders of every day that Stiles does stop talking, confused.

He's even more confused when Mr. Argent's hands are loosening his tie.

“If we get that shirt under some cold water,” the older man murmurs, body  _far_  too close to Stiles, “It might not stain.”

Oh, Stiles thinks, right, he's helping me not to look like such a fool. Stiles exhales in relief, reaches for the tie himself. “It's fine, I can do it.”

Argent swats his hand away and Stiles gasps in surprise. “Hands at your sides.” Stiles automatically does so, and then he thinks about it and starts to say something but one icy look and he's shutting up again.

Mr. Argent not only unknots and removes Stiles' tie, but also slowly unbuttons his dress shirt, pulling it down and off Stiles' shoulders.

“Stay,” he murmurs, and goes into his private bathroom. Stiles can hear the running water as the older man rinses the coffee out of his clothes.

It's kind of weird, but his boss is just trying to help, he tells himself. And he believes it, right up until Mr. Argent starts unbuckling his intern's belt.

“Uh, Sir, what-”

Suddenly, Argent's large hand is wrapped around Stiles' throat. “I said hush.” There's a growl to his voice now, and Stiles is starting to get anxious, trying to figure if he can get to the door, and then he feel his slacks slide down his legs to puddle at his ankles.

Still holding onto Stiles' neck, Argent has him lift one leg and then the other, sliding the pants as well as his socks and shoes free.

“That's much better,” Argent says softly, rising and letting go of Stiles as he circles around his intern.

“Sir, I really think-” Stiles is cut off by a harsh slap across his ass and his statement ends on a squeak. And then Mr. Argent is pressed along his back, and Stiles can feel every inch of the hard cock separated from his ass by only a few thin layers of fabric.

“ _I_  think, Stiles, that you have been  _fucking_   _up_  since I hired you.” His hand reaches around, caresses the planes of Stiles' stomach. “And now, you are going to earn your position back.”


	35. Scallisaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: falling in love with their best friend’s partner au
> 
> ***Warning for Jackson being an asshole to Isaac.***

Allison held Isaac's hand as they walked through the hallway to his locker, squeezing it every time he looked around nervously. “You're doing great, sweetie,” she murmurs softly and he flashes a quick smile at her. Isaac thinks he could have never gotten through the end of last year or the summer without her support.

“Isaac!” A hand was clapped roughly on his shoulder and he glances over to see that brilliant smile and the crooked jaw.

“Heya Scott,” Isaac said shyly. Scott had been nearly as great as Allison when it came to helping him with his transition. Scott is completely and thoroughly amazing and- No. Isaac cuts off that train of thought. He's not going down that road.

“You ready for tryouts?”

Isaac nods, he and Scott spent the whole summer getting Isaac up to peak physical performance so he could make the team.

He watches Scott kiss Allison goodbye, then looks away, pretending he doesn't feel that spike of jealousy.

-

Scott or Allison are in all of his classes but one, so he has someone to sit next to, and who will stand up for him when the inevitable teasing happens. Isaac has never been one to stand up for himself.

It's Econ that he's all alone, and he sits in the front by Coach, hoping that his proximity to the front will keep him safe. It doesn't.

Two of the guys from the team, Jackson and one whose name he doesn't know, settle on either side of him, and start in on him right away, calling him Isabella, asking rude invasive questions, and Jackson goes so far as to try and grab Isaac's chest to see if he's “ _still got anything worth having underneath_.”

Danny comes in, and Isaac thinks for a second that the boy will help him, surely he's been on the receiving end of something that will make him sympathetic. The look he turns on Isaac makes the blonde want to cry, and he just looks down as Danny tells Jackson that Coach is coming.

Isaac is poked and kicked from either side throughout the class, little things that could be written off as accidents if they're caught. By the time he meets Scott and Allison back at his locker, he feels so very small, and he doesn't even want to go to lacrosse. But Scott's puppy dog eyes are a thing of wonder, and Isaac would endure anything for him. Scott leads the way, and though a couple people make comments about Isaac being in the wrong locker room, mostly they leave him be.

Right up until Jackson walks in, swaggering and arrogant, and starts right in on Isaac. But this time Scott is there, and his fist is crushing into Jackson's face before anyone can stop him. Isaac's jaw drops and he falls for Scott so fast it makes him dizzy.

“Why the hell are my co-captains fighting?” Coach yells and everyone scatters back to getting ready.

“Because Jackson's picking on Isaac.” Scott crosses his arms and looks right into Coach's eyes. “And this school has a strict no bullying policy.”

“Hey, asswipes, listen up.” Coach stands up on a bench. “I don't care what the hell you have down your pants as long as you can play lacrosse. Now get your lazy, fat,  _useless_  asses out on the field.”

Scott grins at Isaac. “See Coach is supportive...in his own way.”

“And somebody do something about Jackson!”

-

“Ally, I need to talk to you.”

“You okay, sweetie?” She hugs Isaac and he feels even worse for what he's about to say.

“I've never kept a secret from you and I'm not going to start now.”

Allison's soft brown eyes widen and she nods.

“I think I'm starting to have feelings for Scott.” Isaac blurts it all out, rushes through it. “I'm really sorry, I didn't want to and I would never do anything or tell him but I needed you to know and I understand if you hate me.” Isaac curls up on himself with every word he mumbles, and he's almost in tears as he finishes, and then he looks up at Allison and she's...laughing?

“Ally?”

“Isaac, I'd like to have Scott come over.”

“Are you sure?” Isaac is confused, this is not how he expected this to be going.

Allison nods, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Definitely.”

-

Scott looks oddly shy as he settles down on Isaac's bed, and looks between the two of them.

Allison grins. “Isaac before you called me, I was at Scott's. He made a confession to me.”

“Allison, I-” Scott stops as she holds up her hand, and then looks at Isaac.

“He said that he thought he had feelings for you but he didn't want to say anything, because he felt that it might be overwhelming and he didn't want to put any pressure on you.”

Isaac's jaw drops. “Oh my god.” He looks at Scott, who's blushing fiercely.

“Scott, Isaac told me he has feelings for you not ten minutes ago. And I,” Allison looks serious now, “I love you both. I think we should  _all_  be together.”

Scott and Isaac look up at her and then at each other.

“You can do that?” Scott asks in surprise.

“We can do whatever we want,” Allison states, nodding with certainty. “I think we should at least try.”

Isaac looks between the two of them and nods. “Yeah, why the hell not.”

“Scott?”

He bites his lower lip, then looks up and nods. “I'm in.”

“Perfect. We should start with a date.” Allison claps her hands together. “Movies tomorrow night?”

Isaac's smile lights up the entire room. “Perfect.”


	36. Skittles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: exes meeting again after not speaking for years au

“Dr. McCall.”

Scott stiffens, stands up and turns around, although he knows who he’s going to see. No one else can put that amount of derision in his name.

“Stiles,” Scott nods and takes the supplies he’s picking up from the nurse at the desk. He looks at his ex, and anyone else might overlook the signs, but Scott has known Stiles since they were kids.

“What’s wrong?”

Stiles doesn’t do him the disservice of lying. He does lift his chin with the full Stilinski arrogance, makes his voice cold, all the tricks that tell Scott that Stiles is desperately scared.

“Dad’s here in the hospital.”

Scott nods, thinks about his day, makes a few mental notes to text to his assistant, and clears his schedule.

“In surgery?” Scott asks, since being by the OR is the only reason Stiles would be walking past this point. Stiles nods once, and Scott easily falls in line next to him. Just like old times.

-

Stiles hugs Scott when the all clear comes, his dad has made it and is going to be just fine. Scott wraps his arms around the love of his life and tries very hard not to think about anything but comforting an old friend. But it feels so good, so  _right_ , that when Stiles pulls back, Scott nearly kisses him automatically.

Stiles notices, Scott can tell, and he braces himself for the cutting remarks and recriminations, but instead Stiles rests his palm on Scott’s cheek.

“Scott?” he breathes, asking the question that Scott never wanted him to ask. Do you still love me?

“Yeah,” the vet says softly, answering truthfully, he never could lie to Stiles. I will never stop loving you.

And then Stiles is kissing him and the rest of the world ceases to exist. For a moment, and then the door opens and a young family comes into the waiting room.

Stiles slides his hand in Scott’s. “Break room?”

-

Scott shoves Stiles into the wall, lips seeking the other man’s as he scrabbles at the buttons, resisting the urge to just tear the fancy lawyer dress shirt right down the middle. Scott twines his fingers in Stiles’ and pins the lawyer’s hands to the wall as he moves his lips to Stiles’ nipples, tongue swirling around them before suckling. And Stiles’ hips roll forward, seeking friction but Scott doesn’t let him find any. Not until Stiles’ nipple are spit slick and puffy, and Stiles starts swearing at him, losing all trace of that cool reserve he’s cultivated for the courtroom.

As soon as Scott releases Stiles’ hands, the lawyer is tugging at his shirt and Scott lets it be pulled away and tossed somewhere. At the same time, Scott is unfastening Stiles belt and pants, and then turns the lawyer around and shoves his face into the wall.

He tugs Stiles’ pants down and goes to his knees, large hands grasping the globes of Stiles’s ass and pulling them apart so that Scott can slide his tongue along the cleft, swirl around that tight pucker. And he’d be  _loving_  the fucking noises Stiles is making but the lawyer is going to get them caught, so Scott pulls back just for a moment to stuff Stiles’ tie in his mouth before returning to the task at hand, getting Stiles wet and open for him.

And when he’s fully seated inside Stiles, arms wrapped around, still torturing those nipples, lips pressed against the back of the lawyer’s neck, it feels like home. Feeling the lawyer squeeze tight around him as he spills over Scott’s hand, and then coming inside Stiles as the other man turns his head to capture Scott’s lips in a kiss, it’s everything.

Scott holds on tight to that moment, because he knows what’s coming next. He tries to steel himself, to prepare, but when Stiles silently puts himself back together, shrugs into his cold lawyer persona, and walks out of the breakroom without saying another word, Scott still feels the renewed sting of old betrayal. Because Stiles has outgrown Scott’s tiny little world in Beacon Hills, and Scott has never been enough for the man he loves.


	37. Stisaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Grad School AU. Isaac/Anyone. Isaac meets his new roommate.

Isaac paces nervously in the living room of the new suite, all he knows is that his new roommate is also a grad student, Maths, he thinks the paper said. He's got a meeting in about twenty minutes, but he wants to meet the guy first, wants to get his scent, but the new roommate was supposed to have been here fifteen minutes ago.

Isaac's just about ready to leave, when someone bursts in the door, and he flinches back, just barely keeps himself from flexing claws, and then his jaw drops as honey-amber eyes lifts up to him. The kids smile is huge and wide open and he's the most beautiful thing Isaac has ever seen. The wolf within him leaps to attention, and Isaac can feel the want, the _mine mine mine_ , and he has to clamp down tightly onto himself.

“Hi, Stiles, I'm your new roommate, well obviously because why else would someone be wandering in with boxes and suitcases?” He flings his armful of junk onto the floor in front of the empty room and then turns and directs that brilliant smile to Isaac as he reaches out his hand. Isaac blinks once, somewhat shell-shocked, but he recovers enough to slide his hand into Stiles, the touch of the soft skin not helping him at all. Then he gets another shock as Stiles pulls him into a bear hug.

Isaac breathes deeply, inhales Stiles' scent and it's better than the most alluring cologne, and his arms go around the human and tighten, just briefly, and then he pulls back, warring with his inner wolf.

“Isaac. Lahey.”

“Good to meet you, we've got orientation in a minute, yeah? C'mon.”

Stiles leads the way to the meeting, talking nonstop. Isaac is quiet, he's already realized how much he likes the sound of Stiles' voice.

Which is good, because over the next couple weeks, he learns that it never really stops.

He also realizes that Stiles is very touchy-feely. He pats Isaac absently, wraps a hand around the werewolf's bicep or wrist to get his attention, even curled a hand around the back of Isaac's neck once when he leaned past him for something.

Isaac has never responded to anyone like this, and he wants _more_. He just doesn't know how to go about getting it.

Stiles does it for him, gets absolutely hammered one night, and tells Isaac how pretty he is. Big blue eyes stare at the human. “You really think so?”

Stiles walks over and pushes Isaac onto the bed, straddles the beta's hips. “I walked in that door and you just looked at me with those eyes, and the sun was shining through your hair, made you look like an angel.”

Isaac curls his hands into the bedspread, reminds himself that Stiles is too drunk for consent, but he doesn't have the strength to push the other boy away.

“Stiles,” he groans, but the human hushes him.

“Don't worry, baby, I got you.”

Isaac closes his eyes and fights for control, but when those perfect lips wrap around his cock, Isaac feels the prick of his claws coming through, and knows his eyes would be glowing were they open.

Stiles pulls away and Isaac feels like maybe he can breathe again, but then Stiles starts talking.

“I wanted to _wreck_ you right then, shove you down and fuck you until you begged for me to come, to make you mine.”

Isaac learns that he's _really_ into Stiles' voice when it's all throaty and saying things like that. And he also learns that he can't say no to Stiles, when he finds himself on hands and knees, with the human filling him just right, crying out Stiles' name as he spills over his hand onto the bed.

Isaac wakes up the next morning still wrapped in his roommate's arms, kisses being placed on the back of his neck. “Mine, Isaac, you're all mine,” Stiles whispers into the werewolf's ear, and a slow smile of contentment slides across his face as Isaac presses slightly back into that grasp, a soft noise of agreement deep in his throat.   


	38. Chrisaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chrisaac, jealous!Chris
> 
> Warnings: Underage - Isaac is seventeen

After Allison, Isaac stays with him. It was just a thing that happened, there was no agreement, or even discussion. He just never left, and Chris never asked him to. They mourned together, and everyone else left them alone. Isaac went with him when he took Allison's body to their ancestral home in France, had her buried among the other matriarchs, next to her mother.

He showed the boy the Argent lands, took him to a few local places to see the ones Allison had liked best. Chris bought the kid a few souvenirs, things to take home to Beacon Hills, but when he went home, Isaac stayed behind, wasn't ready to go back to a place that meant nothing but loss and pain.

So Chris left, went back to take care of some unfinished business, but he kept in touch with Isaac, called him a couple times a week to make sure that he was okay, that he had money and to see how he was doing in school.

Isaac starts mentioning someone, a guy that he met somewhere, at first offhand and then more often until he says that he thinks he's kind of maybe dating him, and he's so worried about Chris being mad that all the older man can do is to wish him well. And he's glad that Isaac can't hear his heart over the phone because he's fucking _furious_.

It takes a whole bottle of whiskey for him to accept that he's not mad because Isaac is betraying Allison, he feels like Isaac is betraying _him_. It takes him two days to get his shit together and purchase a ticket to France.

When he walks in the door, Isaac is wrapped around this other guy on the couch in the front parlous, and Chris sees red. He actually pulls a gun on the kid, and while half of him is screaming about living too long in a world of only violence, the other is yelling that no one touches Isaac but him.

 _Oh_.

Chris lowers the gun, uses it to gesture towards the door. “I think you better leave, kid. Isaac and I need to have a talk.”

They never get that talk. The second the door closes, Isaac is on Chris, pushes right up into his space and wraps his arms around the older man's neck.

“I wondered how long it would take you.”

“Isaac-” Chris tries to reel this back, Isaac is only seventeen, and he's old and broken, but the kid is having none of it, just pushes his lips against Chris' until the hunter responds.

Isaac's tearing at Chris' shirt, blunt teeth nipping into the older man's lower lip, zipper rubbing against zipper, and Chris is only human.

He steps forward, scoops up a surprised werewolf, who wraps his legs around Chris after a moment of surprise, to which the hunter can't help a smug chuckle. He might be old but he keeps himself in shape.

Chris tosses Isaac down onto the bed in the nearest guest room, climbs on top of him and kisses him demandingly, harshly crushing their lips together. Isaac bucks up, rolls his hips against Chris as the older man reaches down, hands skillfully unbuttoning, unzipping, freeing them both.

Isaac gasps against the hunter's lips as Chris wraps a large calloused hand around both of them at once, and Chris comes back to himself enough to mumble. “Have you ever...?”

Isaac shakes his head. “Wanted it to be you.”

Chris growls at that and licks his way into Isaac's mouth once more, fucks his tongue into the boy's mouth as he strips his hand along them roughly. Isaac comes first, spilling onto Chris' hand, which makes things slicker for own own release, and he rests his forehead against Isaac's a moment before he rolls off to the side.

Chris runs his clean hand over his face, takes a deep breath. “Isaac.. I'm sorry.. Your first time-”

“-was perfect.” Isaac interrupts, rolling onto his side and leaning in to press a soft, gentle kiss to the older man's lips. “But...let's try to actually get our clothes off for the second time?”


	39. Pisaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: no nonsense bamf Isaac who takes his pleasure and doesn't really care about yours?

Isaac comes back from France an Alpha, says he doesn't want to talk about it, and seems content to be second Alpha in Scott's pack. They're overjoyed to have one of their own back, and don't push him for details.

He's back for a week when Isaac shows up on Peter's doorstep. Peter crosses his arms, stand in the doorway and arches a brow. “Can I do something for you, Isaac?”

Isaac smiles slowly, lets the red bleed through. “Yes, Peter, you can.”

He steps forward, looms over Peter and pushes Peter lightly back. The beta involuntarily moves, blinks as Isaac slides past him and goes exploring in the tiny apartment. Peter shakes his head at the empty doorway, and then closes the door, walks into the living room, and watches Isaac look through his things, sniff the blanket on the back of the couch.

“Why are you here, Isaac?”

Slowly the wide blue eyes lift up, look Peter over. “I'm here for you, Peter.”

Peter narrows his eyes, moves to a defensive position, but Isaac moves slowly toward him, seemingly not bent on attack. He crowds Peter up against a wall, reaches out and strokes his hand down the left side of Peter's face.   
“I have wanted you since the day we met, d'you remember?”

Locker room, Derek and Scott, angelic blue eyes, shy smile. Peter remembers.

Isaac leans in, whispers into Peter's ear. “And now, I'm going to have you.”

Peter snorts. “If you think-”

Isaac grabs his wrists, pins them above his head with one hand. “I _know_.”

-

Within the half-hour Isaac has Peter laid out on the bed in front of him, and the beta has long since given up on useless protests. Instead, he's making these muffled mewls as Isaac's lips and teeth attack his nipples once again, and they're spit-slick and puffy by the time Isaac's done playing with them.

The Alpha returns his attention to Peter's lips, biting down and tugging at the lower one as he reaches for the bottle on the nightstand, pushes the older man's knee up so he can see the pink fluttering hole.

“I knew you'd be like this, Peter. I knew you'd want to be roughed up, to be pushed down and shoved around.” Isaac slides a slippery finger into Peter and the older man bucks up at the intrusion. “You want to be fucked, and fucked hard by someone stronger than you.”

Peter doesn't deny it, in fact his untouched dick twitches at the thought, dribbles a little more precome.

“That's what I'm going to do to you tonight, Peter,” Isaac continues as he adds a second finger, pulls them apart to stretch the beta. “I'm going to claim you, make you mine.”

Isaac crooks his fingers as a third joins the others inside Peter, brushing against that little kernel, and Peter cries out before he can stop himself.

Isaac smiles, and it still looks angelic and sweet, and he moves off Peter, flips him so that he's on his stomach. The Alpha uses his strength to push Peter into the position he wants the older man in, pins him down by his neck, back bowed and ass in the air. And when he slides home, Isaac makes a point of telling Peter how he belongs here like this under Isaac, how he belongs to the younger man now.

Isaac curls his hand around Peter's hips, tips of his claws poking through into the beta's skin. He has no need to be gentle here, and so Isaac doesn't. He doesn't take his time or go slow, this Alpha fucks into his beta hard, doesn't even try to make sure that Peter gets off. Isaac doesn't much care, that's not why he's here.

Isaac ruts into Peter, slams inside over and over again until he holds, and Peter can feel the pulsing heat within, and he trembles, moves to take a hand to himself, but Isaac bats it away.

“You'll have to earn that.” Then he tugs them to their sides, leaving himself inside Peter, and wraps his arms around the beta, idly plucking at the oversensitive nipples, while he sinks his teeth into the back of Peter's neck. “I'll let you start trying in the morning. You have all night to think of how.”


	40. Stetopher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Peter/Chris/Stiles?  
> Prompt: Stiles and Peter fighting over Chris  
> Prompt: werewolf!Stiles/Peter/Chris

Stiles lets out a growl, golden eyes flashing as he faces off with the blue eyed beta.

“Really, Stiles, you can’t possibly compete with me.”

Stiles hadn’t even known how much he considered Chris  _his_  until he’d seen the two together and his wolf had seen red.

He snarls and leaps at Peter, shoves the older man into a wall. Peter slides down it, breath knocked out of him and glances to where Chris is lounging, handgun in one hand, sipping from a glass of whiskey with the other. “Some help here, Christopher?”

Chris grins, “Looks like you got it all under control, babe.”

 

Stiles closes in and slashes his claws across Peter’s stomach and the blue eyes flare.

“Dammit, Stiles, get control of yourself.”

Stiles has been a wolf for less than 24 hours. He  _has_  no control. Stiles as a  _human_  has no control, as a wolf, he’s almost sublimated by the instincts.

Peter ducks the next swing and ruthlessly sucker punches Stiles, then turns him and uses his own body to press the new beta against the wall. Stiles snarls and squirms until Peter mashes his mouth against the younger man’s.

“Well I have to say I didn’t see that coming,” Chris mumbles as he clicks the safety back on and finishes his drink.

Stiles tastes blood as his fangs slice into Peter’s lips, but the kiss does the trick, it shocks Stiles and he can feel the rage receding. Stiles’ fangs and claws retract and his brain kicks back online, figuring that Peter recalled the story of Lydia stopping his panic attack the same way.

So Stiles is surprised when Peter ducks back in for another kiss, rolls his hips into the younger man’s, and Stiles suddenly discovers that his dick is very interested in the proceedings. He presses back, traces his tongue along the seam of Peter’s lips, making a sub-vocal rumble as Peter opens easily for him.

The older man lets himself be turned, be pressed up against the wall instead of Stiles, and the new beta finds all his predatory instincts rearing to life at the easy submission.

Stiles growls low against the other’s soft lips, and then grasps a handful of Peter’s hair, tugs his head sideways, and then sinks his fangs into Peter’s neck. Peter snarls, but rocks his hips, and the obvious bulge there, up against Stiles, and Stiles suddenly needs to get his hands on Peter. He suckles at the bite mark, making a deep purple bruise that sadly won’t last, as his nimble fingers open Peter’s jeans and tugs his cock out, and it’s full and thick, and Peter groans as those long fingers close around it.

The flashing blue eyes close as Peter’s head hits the wall behind him, because Stiles is sinking down to his knees and with one movement sheathes him to the base in that hot, wet heat. Peter’s claws dig into the plaster of the wall as Stiles sucks, and then presses his tongue along the underside of the older man’s cock.

Peter honest-to-god  _whimpers_  when Stiles pulls back and turns his head away, and Peter looks down to see why, and then follows his gaze to look at Chris. And the hunter is sitting on the couch, legs spread, dick in his fist as he watches them and he waves a hand.

“No need to stop on my account.”

Stiles looks back up at Peter, eyes flashing bright gold as Peter's flare blue. Peter smirks slowly and inclines his head, and Stiles grins.

Then the two of them pull each other’s clothes off while Chris goes back to jacking himself, that is, until the two wolves round on him, and Stiles slaps his hand away and pins his wrists above his head.

Chris starts to protest, because he was perfectly happy watching, but then Peter’s mouth is on his cock, and Stiles finds his lips. One of Stiles’ hands is holding Chris’ wrists, and the other slides down to pluck at a nipple. Chris bucks up into Peter’s mouth but he can’t even apologize because Stiles is fucking his tongue into Chris’ mouth, and then Peter’s tugging his jeans fully off, and pulling him down so that he’s lying on the couch.

Chris feels a slick finger tease at his hole, and he moans into Stiles’ mouth as it breaches him. Stiles nips at Chris’ lower lip before he moves to trailing kissing along Chris’s neck, free hand still alternately teasing at the hunter’s nipples. Peter’s fucking his mouth on Chris’ dick while he adds more fingers and then crooks them, and Chris arches up with a gasp as they rub across that hard little kernel inside.

Between the two of them, they bring Chris to completion in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

Peter lifts his arms and reaches for Stiles, pulling him away from languid kisses and brings him into Peter’s lap. He’s still got Chris’ come in his mouth and he extends his tongue, shows it to the worn out hunter before he and Stiles share a long, sloppy kiss.

Chris groans as he watches Stiles push Peter to the ground and bury his face in that perfect ass, and his dick gives a valiant twitch as Stiles mounts Peter, but he doesn’t have the refraction period that the wolves do, and so all he can do is watch until Stiles hauls Peter over to him.

Peter’s mouth presses into Chris, his tongue slides across the older man’s as Stiles pounds into him from behind, and then he turns his head reaches to tug Peter up until he can take the werewolf in his mouth.

Stiles groans against Peter’s neck as the older beta reacts, and slams into him hard until he’s coming in Chris’ mouth. Stiles fucks him through it, and then wraps his hands around Peter’s hips tightly, claws pricking into the older man’s skin, and fucks him hard until he’s pulsing his release inside Peter.

Peter curls onto the floor as Stiles pulls away, flops back onto the chair, and then looks over Chris, who’s licking his lips and staring down at Peter.

“I guess we can share,” Stiles offers, which makes Peter huff a laugh.

“Deal.”


	41. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Steter: Alpha!Stiles, Peter follows  
> Prompt: Stiles gets the bite in the garage  
> Prompt: I always wonder how Stiles would have handled the Alpha pack if he were in Scott’s place

The garage echoes as Stiles yells at Peter, then makes an undignified squeak as Peter grabs his wrist. He can feel the werewolf’s hot breath across the sensitive skin as his heart skips a beat, as he says, “I don’t want to be like you.”

“I can hear the lie in your words, Stiles, so I’m going to do you a favor.” Peter’s eyes flash red and his fangs descend like a nightmare, and then all Stiles can feel is pain.

His scream echoes off the concrete walls as he watches the blood pour from his arm and he thinks,  _this is it, this is how I die_.

-

“SCOTT. DEREK.” Stiles steps in the way. “He’s mine.”

The other betas snarl, but Stiles stares them down, and something in Derek recognizes Stiles as higher ranking, and so he lowers his gaze, but he’s very not happy about it. Scott tries to argue but Stiles shoves him back and snarls.

Stiles spins on his heel and pounces on the burnt body, extends his claws and tears through the jugular until he can hear the heart below him stop beating. He lifts red eyes to Derek as he rises, then flicks to Jackson, before lifting his head and roaring. Derek joins him.

Scott is glowering and Stiles can smell his fury. He turns and stalks off with Allison in tow.

Jackson looks between Derek and Stiles.

“I still want the bite,” he demands.

Stiles reaches for Jackson’s wrist but Derek stops him. “Not on the wrist, Stiles, that’s a mating bite.” He smirks a bit. “Unless you really want Jackson as your mate.”

Stiles looks at his wrist and then down at Peter’s corpse. “Is that so.”

-

Stiles faces Deucalion, Peter and Derek flanking him. “You are not welcome on Hale land.” Cora, Isaac, Jackson, Erica, and Boyd are behind them, arranged in a semi-circle. Scott is safely hid away in Deaton’s clinic.

“Hand over Scott McCall and we will leave.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, Stevie Wonder.”

Kali snarls something, and Stiles smirks as he hears Lydia’s response from the shadows.

“I just can’t take anyone seriously who is in that much need of a pedicure.”

Deucalion lifts his blind gaze at the click of a crossbow, and Chris, Victoria, Allison, Lydia, and Danny are arrayed on the upper levels of the warehouse, wolfsbane tipped arrows all aimed at the supposed Alpha of Alphas.

“Leave or die. You have thirty seconds to make your decision.”

It almost works. Deucalion is turning away when he hears Scott’s voice yelling, and Stiles growls, eyes flashing red. So damned ready to sacrifice himself.

And then Stiles egts a shcok when Scott rushes in and his eyes are just as red as Stiles’.

“Scotty?”

He lifts his chin. “I’m an Alpha now.”

And that’s when the Alpha pack attacks.

-

“We can share, Scott, there’s no reason to split the pack up!” Stiles is pleading.

“I don’t like the way you do things, Stiles. You’ve gotten way too into this werewolf thing. It’s like you’re not even  _human_  anymore.”

“Scotty, we’re not human anymore, don’t you get that?”

Scott shakes his head. “I can’t do this. I can’t be a monster, Stiles.”

Allison stalks off after Scott, Lydia too, after directing a tight smile to Stiles. Isaac slinks off after them after hugging Erica tight. Jackson leans into Derek as he watches Isaac leave, and Derek wraps an arm around his shoulders.

Stiles turns to look at Peter with an eyebrow arched. “Scott was your first beta.”

Peter reaches out to grab Stiles’ wrist, runs his thumb over the long-healed bite, as the blue eyes look up into his Alpha’s, and then he turns and leaves. But Peter doesn’t follow Scott, he goes the opposite way, leaving Stiles staring after him.

-

“You found me.” Peter doesn’t seem surprised to see Stiles at his doorway.

“I always knew where you were, Peter.” Stiles pushes past him, takes up residence in the easy chair in the living room. “You’re not that hard to figure out.”

“Oh?” Peter lifts his chin, affronted.

“High-end but good value, expensive car but not flashy, designer clothes but not couture, it’s basically your  _modus operandi_ , Hale.”

Peter lofts both brows.

“That’s why you picked me for your mate.” It’s not a question. “The part that I don’t understand is why you haven’t said or done anything about it since giving me the bite.”

“You killed me,” Peter points out.

“That wouldn’t stop you.” Stiles is assured of his deduction. “So what did?”

“You never returned the favor.” Peter glances away for half a second.

Stiles barks a laugh as he rises, stalks around the beta. “Underneath all the bluster and sarcasm, the arrogance and scheming, Peter Hale is insecure.”

Peter stiffens, but Stiles reaches out and grabs his wrist, lifts the amber gaze up. “This is forever, isn’t it? You sure you want that?”

Peter shrugs, forced casual. “Where you go, I follow.”

Stiles nods and bites down, completing the bond.


	42. Argelinski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Stiles sneaking around protecting Chris cuz he feels guilty for the whole Nogitsune thing with Allison  
> Prompt: Chris/Stiles with Stiles getting seriously injured saving Chris??

Chris is asleep in his chair when he hears the noise, a scraping sound along the bottom of the back door, and he carefully reaches for his gun, slides around the corner and points it at the back door.

At the back of someone’s head.

Stiles, if he’s going by the baseball bat and oversized plaid.

Chris thumbs the safety back on and starts to head for the door, to ask Stiles what he’s doing, but then the kid clambers off the porch to the side, and it reminds him of the way Allison used to do it, so strongly, that for a minute he can’t breathe. He shuffles into the living room, and grabs the open bottle that’s never too far from his hand and drinks the lump in his chest away.

Chris forgets all about Stiles being there.

-

It’s not until John calls him late one night, and asks him to take the phone out to Stiles that Chris dredges the memory up from the whiskey induced haze. He stumbles out the back door, thrust the phone at a very surprised Stiles, and goes back inside.

By the time, Stiles and his dad are done, Chris has made a thermos of cocoa that he trades the hand unit for.

Stiles nods his thanks and they go on about their business.

-

They don’t talk about it but sometimes, as the weather gets nicer, Chris goes out and has his nightcap outside, watches Stiles do Allison’s patrol.

It’s months later when Chris actually speaks to the kid, an abrupt declaration out of nowhere.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Stiles stops mid-sip (Chris brings him beer on hot days) and blinks.

“There’s a reason it picked me.”

Chris doesn’t bring it up again.

-

Somehow a wendigo decides that Chris seems like an easy target, maybe because he’s a recluse, maybe because he’s rapidly turning into a drunk. It’s a stupid decision that costs him his life.

It also costs Stiles, who ends up with a chunk taken out of his thigh, and claw marks across his chest.

Chris gets irrationally mad at him and chews him out something fierce as he bandages the kid up best he can. He’s still ranting as he carries Stiles in to Melissa, blood dripping down his jeans. He all but shoves the kid at her, and then calls John.

-

“Thanks for saving my boy, Argent.” John claps a hand on his shoulder. “He thinks he has something to prove.”

Chris shakes his head. “He’s always been a good kid.”

John chuckles. “He’s a man grown now, Chris, be nineteen next week.”

Christ, that makes Chris feel old. “You gonna be able to take care of him once they patch him up?”

John shakes his head. “He’ll have to make do. I’ll have Scott look in on him when he can.”

“He could stay with me. Sure as hell I got nowhere else to be.”

“You sure?”

Chris nods. He is.

-

“You are the worst patient ever.”

Stiles snorts as he precariously props himself up on crutches he’s not supposed to be using yet, crutches that Chris is absolutely  _certain_  he hid in the front closet, and whips up pancake mix.

“You’re making pancakes. It’s two in the morning, Stilinski.”

Stiles looks at Chris full on, and Argent finds himself distracted trying to decide the exact color of those eyes. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one that’s taking care you of you here, kid.”

Stiles flicks a blueberry at Chris’ nose. “Pretty sure you’re wrong, old man.”

Chris snorts and takes a step forward to contest that age crack, but one of Stiles’ crutches slips as he turns and the kid starts to fall.

Chris is there to catch him, and he looks down to find those honey-golden (he decides) eyes on him, and Stiles licks his lower lip. Chris tracks the movement, hypnotized for some reason, and then there’s a palm resting against his cheek.

He flicks his eyes up to meet Stiles’ once more, and then he’s scooping the kid into his arms, and Stiles wraps his own around Chris’ neck and suddenly they’re kissing, desperate and sloppy, and nothing’s felt this right in a long, long time.


	43. Dackson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: danny/jackson prostitute/client au

Danny watches the blonde pace agitatedly, lets the soft brown eyes roam over the corded muscles of the man’s neck, the veins in his arms as he gestures, the curve of his ass when he turns away.

“I don’t know how this happened!,” he says, and Danny mentally mouths the next line of the script along with him. “I’m not gay.”

Danny lifts his sweet dimples up to Jackson. “Tell you what, because the company screwed up, I’ll blow you for free. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Danny could win an oscar for the way he manages to pull this off every time like it’s the first, even though the stack of cash he’d already been paid is sitting out in plain sight. He doesn’t know if the guy is paranoid or deep in denial, not that he cares too much. Guys got one hell of a body, and he pays upfront.

Danny flips a page in the mental script and sinks to his knees, reaching to pull out a condom. “No fucking way, man, I hate those things.” Danny shakes his head, “Company policy, man.”

He manages to look shocked when Jackson flicks it out of his hand and fists his hand in Danny’s hair. They’re both clean, of course, Cora makes sure of it, this show is all for the client.

Jackson tightens his hold on Danny’s dark locks, using his free thumb to push between the soft lips.

“Least you’re pretty,” he mumbles before moving his hand to his zipper and freeing his cock. Danny tugs back against the grip in his hair a bit, playing the taken-advantage-of, in-over-his-head hooker, but when Jackson thrusts his dick into Danny’s mouth, he accepts it easily, relaxing his throat and sliding his tongue along the underside before passively letting the man fuck his face.

Danny can kind of relax now, as much as you can relax when you’re giving a blow job, because Jackson never looks down after that, never wants to see, Danny thinks.

Until today apparently, because when Danny casually looks up, those aquamarine eyes are looking down at him intently. He blinks and arches a brow, and Jackson slides himself free.

Danny waits, because this is very off-script.

“Do you like doing this?”

Danny licks his lips and rocks back on his heels, arches a brow. “This?” he asks in request for an explanation.

Jackson looks down, tucks himself away and steps back, sits down on the bed. “ _This_ , getting paid to have sex.”

Danny shrugs, not sure where the client is going with this line of questioning. “Yeah, beats retail.”

“Come on a date with me,” Jackson demands. Danny tilts his head, then shakes it. “I don’t do that. Just the sex.”

“No, I mean for real, Danny.”

Danny shakes his head, grabs the cash and presses it into Jackson’s hand. “This isn’t Pretty Woman. Don’t call again.”

Danny stalks to the door and holds it open.

Jackson narrows his eyes, then pushes off the bed with a huff. He stalks to the doorway and then stops, looks down at Danny, and they stare at each other for a long minute. Jackson darts in and kisses Danny softly, then stomps through the door and slams it shut behind him.

Danny looks at the door, eyes sad, and then calls Cora.

-

Three months later Jackson tosses a stack of books for Christmas presents onto the counter of a bookstore and looks up into a familiar pair of soft brown eyes.

“D-Danny?”

“Heya Jackson,” Danny smiles as he rings the books up and bags them. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

Jackson flounders, receives his things and hesitates. “Would you…get coffee with me…sometime?”  
Danny nods shyly. “Yeah, Jacks, think I’d like that.”


	44. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: mafia boss Peter, thief Stiles

AU where Peter is a Mob Boss, and Stiles is a thief who steals from him

 

Derek is a comforting presence at his side as Peter stares down the messenger.

“He _what_?” Peter snarls at last, after a very long, very uncomfortable silence.

“Whole place is cleaned out, boss. Even took the giant painting.”

Derek steps forward, but Peter places a hand on his chest. “No, this one I'll take care of myself.”

-

“You _what_?!” Isaac squeaks, blue eyes wide.

“Cleaned him out.” Stiles is smug. “I'm done on the streets, 'sac. Just gotta find me a fence.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” the other boys hisses, “You stole from Peter Hale, _the mob boss_ , after he paid you to fuck him. He's never going to let that go.”

“I'm going to run faster than he can follow.” Stiles halts in the doorway. “Come with me! You could get out of here too.”

Isaac shakes his head, glances at the floor a minute before lifting his head up to look at Stiles through his lashes. “Daddy Chris is gonna take me away when he leaves next week.”

Stiles pulls Isaac into a hug. “Good, good, then you'll be all taken care of.”

Isaac nods and squeezes. “Send me a postcard from whatever fancy place you land.”

-

Stiles grunts as he hits the concrete floor of the warehouse. Peter stalks around him, shaking his head.

“I thought you were smarter than this, Stiles. Now I'm going to have to teach you a lesson.” He crouches down, tilts his head at the kid. “But first, tell me why. I had just given you a rather large amount of money. Why would you steal from me?”

Stiles mumbles through bleeding lips, looking at Peter through the one eye that isn't swollen shut. “I wanted to get me and Isaac off the streets. To be _done_.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “Who's Isaac?”

“'Nother street kid, but he's gonna be okay, he's got a Daddy now. Handsome, takes care of him, Chris something.” Stiles is babbling in the hopes that if he keeps talking Peter won't hit him again for a while.

Peter arches a brow at the name. “Chris Argent?” _The boss of one of the other Families in the city?_

Stiles shrugs, then winces as it pulls at the cracked rib. “Bit taller than you, older – little gray in his beard, blue eyes, takes real good care of Isaac.”

Peter stands up abruptly. “Why do you call him a Daddy?” He looks down at the boy.

“That's just what they're called, y'know. They take care of you and buy you things and..and stuff. I don't know.” His voice gets a hint of bitterness to it. “I ain't never had one.”

“Would you like one?” Peter presses his lips together, but it's too late, the question emerges unbidden.

“Well, yeah, sure- Wait, you mean you?” Stiles licks his battered lips. “We had a good night together, but I'm not a real big fan of the way you use your fists.”

Peter is quiet for a long time, and his face is impossible to read, then he extends a hand. Stiles hesitates, and then puts his hand in Peter's and the mafiosi pulls the boy to his feet.

“You belong to me,” Peter says, voice rough, “I'll call Cora and make the arrangements.”

“How do you know Cora?” Stiles blinks and furrows a brow.

Peter just smirks. “Not your concern.” He tugs Stiles close, flush against his body. “What _is_ your concern is making me happy.”

Stiles swallows hard and then nods.

“Fortunately for you, very little was unrecoverable. And I think you can figure out just how you're going to work off that little debt.”

Peter wraps his hand around Stiles' throat, thumb stroking the boy's adam's apple, while the other curves tightly around his waist, ignoring the wince of pain at the jostling of cracked rib.

“Now,” Peter breathes against bruised lips. “I'm going to fuck you like this, Stiles, I'm going to hurt you, because you deserve it. But when I'm done, I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to be your Daddy and buy you presents and you will belong to me. Completely.”

He looks down at the expanded pupils, squeezes the swan-like neck a little harder. “Do we have a deal?”

Stiles doesn't even hesitate, just nods three times in quick succession, swallowing against the pressure of Peter's hand.

“Good.” Peter sweeps Stiles' feet out from under him, shoves the boy to the floor, and then Stiles can hear the hiss of leather through beltloops through the haze of pain.

“Scream all you want,” Peter croons, and then the belt descends.


	45. Sherrish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Parrish/Sheriff, going away to war au

John leans against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watches Jordan pack. He's methodical and efficient...and absolutely silent.

The last thing the Sheriff had said still lingers in the air, the broken plea for his deputy, his _lover_ , to stay, echoes in Parrish's silence. His actions are all the answer needed.

The zipping of the bag is the final period on Jordan's silent statement of intent, and John closes his eyes, turns away and heads to the kitchen. He makes himself a cup of tea absently, having given up coffee when Jordan moved in, and stares out the window.

Logically, he understands why Parrish has to go. He's all about _duty_ , _honor_ , _country_ , and Jordan had volunteered the first time around, no reason to expect this time to be different. His skills with explosives and facility with languages make him highly qualified.

But, dammit, John _needs_ him. When the deputy leaves, he'll be all alone again.

He doesn't know how long he's been blankly looking out the window when he hears the sound of the suitcase being settled by the door. John doesn't turn around, can't watch Jordan walk out on him.

The Sheriff listens though, listens to Parrish move around, and waits for the door to close so he can let himself go.

He's not expecting the arms that slide around his waist from behind, or the kiss to the back of his neck. “Jordan-” he starts to say but cuts himself off as his voice wavers. Parrish turns him and slides into his arms, pressing John back against the counter, and the older man closes his eyes and rests his cheek on the top of his deputy's head.

And then Parrish turns his face up and presses his lips to John's and it's light, gentle at first, but the Sheriff can't help himself and pushes into the kiss, sliding his tongue along the seam of Jordan's lips before plundering him mouth, sloppy and desperate.

Jordan's clinging to him, and the older man scoops him up and settles him on the counter, the deputy's legs wrapping around John's waist. Jordan starts unbuttoning the Sheriff's uniform so that he can slide his hands inside. John breaks their kiss to tug the too tight t-shirt off his boy, and then ducks his head down to flick his tongue across Jordan's nipple, and that's all it takes for the floodgates to burst and suddenly they're tearing at each other's clothing like it's the last time they'll ever see one another.

John fumbles at the fly of the younger man's jeans, and then growls in frustration as it proves recalcitrant. Instead he yanks it open, the button goes god knows where, but neither of them care right now, because the Sheriff's large hand is wrapping around them both. Jordan groans against his lover's mouth as he feels the calloused hand squeeze him, and he drags his nails over John's back as he rolls his hips.

John takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and the younger man takes the opportunity to bite down at the crook of his neck, then suckles at the abused skin. He's leaving marks for John, physical reminders of him, for when he's gone.

They're too desperate, too greedy, for finesse or teasing, and Jordan is spilling over the older man's hand far too soon. John follows a few heartbeats later, and they sink to the floor, wrapping around each other tightly until their heartbeats are in sync.

Jordan opens his eyes and looks at the ceiling, licks his lips and opens them to say something, but John kisses whatever it was away softly.

“Come back to me safe and sound,” he whispers against his former deputy's lips, and it's permission, a benediction, and a goodbye all in one.

Jordan nods softly, and then pushes up from the cold kitchen floor, puts himself back together – which involves digging out a new pair of jeans – and goes to the doorway. He lifts his suitcase and looks over to see those cerulean eyes watching him, glimmering with unshed tears.

Parrish offers a soft smile, then opens the door and walks out.

 


	46. Chrisaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: prostitute/client au

“That one.” Chris points immediately to the tall lanky boy with the golden curls and the big blue eyes, even before Cora has finished speaking.

“Ah, Isaac,” she murmurs, “he's brand new to our family, very little training, Mr. Argent. Are you certain? Stiles, over there, for example, is very skilled with his mouth.”

Chris flicks a gaze over to said mouth, and the amber eyes framed by long lashes, the confident strethc of his body, the hint of brat he can see in the sparkles of his eyes. “Maybe another time.”

He looks back at Isaac, the shy, diffident way he carries himself, eyes wide with nervousness, only thinly covered by the affect of laconic boredom.

“Isaac.” His voice snaps out, not loud but firm, and the boy instantly snaps to attention, and the way he focuses so _completely_ on Chris is all the older man needs. He crooks a finger and the boy comes to his side, eyes darting briefly to Cora who gives him a nod.

Chris reaches out, traces his thumb over the sharp cheekbone, curls his hand around the back of Isaac's neck and stares into those incredible blue eyes. He leans forward and murmurs into the boy's ear, grinning slowly when Isaac nods, and then turns to Cora.

“I'm going to take him for a couple days.”

Cora nod, narrows her eyes at Isaac in a silent warning to make this client happy. Isaac flashes her a grin that's half-false bravado, and half shyness shining through. Chris reaches out, curls his hand in Isaac's hair and yanks the boy's attention back to him. Isaac's eyes are wide, apprehensive, but he can also see the arousal beneath.

“I expect your complete attention on me, Isaac.”

“Yes, Daddy,” he whimpers and Chris grins slowly.

-

“Hm, I'm not sure I believe you.” Chris moves his fingers, rubs the pad of them over that special spot and Isaac bucks again.

“ _Please_ , Daddy.” He hiccups, sniffling, and this, _this_ is the reason that Chris picked him. There's no artifice, no faking. Every reaction of Isaac's is completely genuine, and he's so eager, always.

Isaac is the perfect distraction.

Chris slides his hand free of the boy, and pretends to consider while he wipes it clean. “Hm, I don't know.” He trails fingers along Isaac's spine, admiring the trembles as he tries to remain still, to hold himself in place just like he was ordered, but he wants to push up into the touch, Chris can see it.

Chris settles into a chair, gets comfortable, then curls his hand around his own neglected cock, starts stroking, and he chuckles low at the whimper that comes from Isaac.

“Come here, baby boy,” he relents, groaning as Isaac chooses to crawl over, and he pulls the boy into a deep kiss while tugging him up into Chris' lap.

“Ride me,” he demands, leaning back, nodding in appreciation as Isaac obeys immediately, straddles Chris and lowers himself down.

Chris groans and can't help himself from reaching out and wrapping his hands around Isaac's hips, watching the way he moves.

“Look at me, baby,” he demands, and Isaac's eyes open wide, watery with the strain of holding himself back, but Chris has learned in the past couple days that he will obey whatever it takes.

“There you are,” Chris murmurs, “I got you, now come for me.”

Isaac shifts angle slightly and thrusts himself down two times before he complies, spilling across his stomach and thighs, and he's still pulsing when Chris lifts him, cradles Isaac in strong arms and lays him down on the bed, without Chris ever sliding from him

The older man fucks him through his orgasm until Isaac whimpers, and then Chris fucks into him hard a few times before filling the boy with his come, wrapping tightly around Isaac and holding himself there. Isaac buries his face in the crook of Chris' neck and clings to the older man.

“You're mine,” he whispers into Isaac's ear, “I'm keeping you.” He can't see Isaac's face, but he can feel the way the boy's body reacts, and he can hear the soft whisper muffled against his neck.

“Yes, Daddy.”


	47. Argelinski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris/Stiles - black

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Chris looks up from his phone to see Stiles settling into his booth, the bench seat across from him, and wrapping his long fingers around Chris' beer. He lifts it to his plush lips and takes a sip, but that's not why Chris is staring. It's not the flush of his cheeks or the sparkle in his eyes. It's the black t-shirt that's so tight it looks like it's been painted on, so tight that Chris can trace the outline of the abs he wasn't aware that Stiles had, and see the peaks of stimulated nipples.

Stiles looks like sex on a stick, and Chris has _never_ looked at the nineteen year old that way before, probably assisted by his previous habit of wearing clothes that he was swimming in, but now it's giving him a problem in the area of his jeans.

Chris, not giving any of this away, simply arches a brow and eyes his beer.

“Stiles.”

Stiles takes another drink and slides it back, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop across his lower lip, and Chris resists the temptation to watch. Instead he looks steadily into the boy's eyes and waits.

Stiles, true to form, can't stand the silence, so he starts talking. And, also integral to the kid's personality, he manages to insult Chris twice in his first sentence.

“Not the kind of club I'd expect to see a hunter at, especially one of your advanced years.”

Chris snorts and reaches across the table to take his beer back. Stiles puts his hand on it. Chris just _looks_ at him and waits.

“Why are you here, Chris?” Stiles asks finally as he releases the bottle.

“Same thing everyone else is doing here,” Chris says dryly. “Trolling for sex.”

He's amused to see the surprise on Stiles' face, closely followed by suspicion. Chris covers his amusement by bringing his beer to his lips and taking a drink.

Stiles' eyes follow the line of his throat a moment, then he crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, whatever. What are you hunting? Sex demon or something?”

Chris runs his hand down the side of the bottle, watching Stiles track the movement, then he leans back and shrugs a shoulder.

“Maybe I'm hunting defenseless boys who should _really_ know better... but get in over their heads anyway.” Chris is interested to note the way the kid's pupils expand, and suddenly recalls Stiles' attraction to danger. Maybe that's the final straw, or maybe he's just kicked back enough beer to impair his judgment. Whatever it is, it makes Chris reach into his pocket and pull out a pair of handcuffs and a black leather collar and set them on the table. “And sometimes, my prey walks right into the trap for me.”

Chris lofts both brows and waits.

Stiles' eyes darts to the side, judging the crowd, and then studies Chris. His mouth opens, probably to insult Chris again, but the hunter forestalls him by reaching out for the restraints, starts dragging them back to himself.

Stiles' hand clamps down on his wrist. Then his free hand slowly retrieves the items, and he looks boldly, challengingly into Chris' eyes as he slides the black leather band around his neck. He hesitates a second when it comes to the cuffs, and then sets his jaw and snaps them around his wrists. Then Stiles lifts his chin and tries to act nonchalant, but Chris can see the mix of fear and lust in his eyes.

The hunter reaches into his pocket and pulls out a chain, leans across the table and clips it onto the ring at the hollow of Stiles' throat, then slides his wrist into the leather cuff at the opposite end. Chris rises, tugs once and waits for Stiles to scramble to his feet, before he starts walking through the club, Stiles following at his heels.

By the time they get to Chris' SUV, Stiles' eyes are slightly glazed over, and when Chris' hand slides down to cup him, Stiles rocks his hips forward to press into the older man's hand.

Chris grins and leans in, bites down on Stiles lower lip, then opens up the back, steps away so that Stiles can climb up into it, then he fastens Stiles' leash to a hook over the door.

“Stay,” he orders, and then closes the hatch securely, heads to the driver's seat, mind swimming with plans for Stiles.


	48. Chordan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chordan - Red

“You feeling any better?”

Chris looks up to see Deputy Parrish in the doorway of his hospital room, and he nods.

“Trying.”

“Do or do not, there is no try.” Parrish gives Chris his quirky grin, and the older man can't help but chuckle, recalling the lightsaber comment of a few weeks ago.

“I'll be fine,” Chris says, hiding the twinge when he moves. Parrish somehow knows, because he rushes over and helps Chris ease into a sitting position.

“Thanks, Deputy.”

“Anytime, sir.”

“Chris,” he hurries to say, because that 'sir' is doing things to him that he should not be engaging in right now.

The younger man smiles. “Then you should call me Jordan.”

-

“Why are you here again?” Chris grumbles.

“Because I'm hard-headed and stubborn as well as pretty?” Jordan counters.

Chris snorts in amusement in spite of himself. “I can get home just fine.”

“No one said you couldn't,” Jordan says placidly as he wheels Chris out to his cruiser, stepping around the wheelchair to open the door for the hunter. “There we are, sir.”

Chris rolls his eyes, but he has to admit that he's still in a fair amount of pain, as he levers himself into the passenger seat. But he hides it, no need for the deputy to think he's weaker than he already does.

Parrish returns after taking the wheelchair back, hums to himself as he settles into the driver's seat.

Chris arches a brow, but he just gets an enigmatic smile in return.

-

“There we are, sir.” Parrish hands him a mug and Chris frowns at the marshmallows floating in cocoa.

“What is this.”

“Double chocolate peppermint cocoa, my specialty.” The deputy beams and Chris doesn't have the heart to tell him that he's not into sweets and demand a cup of black coffee. He sips it grudgingly, nods to the kid to show him it's fine, and sets it to the side.

Chris expects Parrish to leave now, and so he's surprised when he heads into the kitchen.

“What are you doing, Jordan?”

“Gonna make you a couple things so you have food in the house.”

Chris eyes the drawer next to him, thinking of the bottle that's tucked in it. “Go back to work, kid.”

He looks over to see Jordan crouching in front of the lower cabinet, and then whatever he was going to say flies out of his mind, because, just visible over the waist band of Parrish's uniform pants, is a sliver of red lace.

Chris' brain shorts out for a long, long moment, and he can feel the flush on his face, so he turns away from the sight and lifts the mug, sips at it while trying to corral himself.

“Sir, you okay?”

Chris turns to look at Parrish, who's managed to come right up to him without the hunter noticing, and he rests a cool palm against the older man's forehead. “You're flushed, I should check your temperature.”

Chris sets the drink down, circles Parrish's wrist with his fingers. “Not a fever.” His voice is rough as he looks up into those confused green eyes. Chris can't think of any way to explain it, so he just repeats himself as he lets Jordan go. “Not a fever.”

He reaches for the mug with shaky hands, pushing it at the deputy to distract him, but Jordan's looking at his face not his hands, and he ends up spilling half of it on Jordan's uniform. The deputy gasps and jerks back, swiftly unbuttoning and tugging off the shirt.

Chris starts to apologize but his mouth is dry as he looks over Jordan in his white tank top, and the red lace is clearly visible now.

“Jesus Christ,” is what he ends up saying ans closes his eyes. “Washer's down in the basement.”

Chris listens to the deputy head down, and he takes a few deep breaths to calm himself, stealthily reaches into the drawer and grabs his bottle of whiskey. He's takes a handful of sips by the time he hears the deputy coming back up, and he tucks the bottle down beside him, and flicks his eyes innocently to the basement door.

Jordan comes around the corner, and apparently he's elected to put everything in the wash because now that red lace is ALL he's got on.

“Oh my god,” Chris breathes, and the deputy grins.

“Thought I told you to call me Jordan.”

Chris can't help but huff a laugh, and shakes his head. “Alright you brat, get over here.”

Jordan comes close but hovers just out of reach. “But you're injured.”

“If you don't get that perfect ass in my lap right now, _you're_ the one that's going to be injured.” Chris manages to inject a note of sternness that has Jordan gently perching on him, eyes flicking worriedly to the wound.

Chris tugs him down, runs a hand along the red lace covering the soft skin of the deputy's ass. “How long until you have to be back?”

Jordan buries his face in the crook of Chris' neck. “Two days, sir.”

Chris smiles and squeezes the lace covered flesh. There's a lot he can do in two days.


	49. Stetopher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Stetopher - purple
> 
> Warnings: Stiles in a dress, discussion of lingerie

“ _Well_?” Stiles shifts from side to side nervously as the two older men stare at him. He'd told them a couple weeks ago about this and they'd agreed to give it a try. But now that the moment was here, they aren't saying _anything_ , and Stiles is getting very anxious.

Peter clears his throat, glances at Chris and then back to Stiles. Instead of answering, he rises and steps towards the younger man, and starts running his hand along the back of the purple dress, feeling the way it hugs the curve of Stiles' ass. Chris soon follows his lead, hand running up along the inside of Stiles' thigh underneath the slinky fabric, the other coiling around Stiles' waist.

Peter's lips find Stiles' neck, and the younger man can feel the hard length of the werewolf's dick pressing against the cleft of his ass through the purple fabric. Chris is just as hard in front of him, and he slides himself against Stiles, and the younger man thinks he's pretty sure they approve.

Chris' hand wraps around his cock and Stiles groans and arches into it. The hunter tugs a few times until Stiles is just as hard as he is, then Chris tugs down his pajama pants so that he can jack both of them together.

Peter slides the back of the dress up and Stiles shivers at the feel of Peter's dick sliding between his thighs, grazing the underside of his balls as the werewolf pushes his legs closer together, which leans him into Chris' hand.

Between the two of them, they quickly take him apart, and soon he's coming in Chris' hand along with the hunter, and Peter's release is leaking down Stiles' thighs.

Stiles takes a deep shuddering breath as he sags against Peter's strength, and the wolf lifts him to the bed and then curls against his back side, a hand gently petting along the purple satin covered hip.

Chris brings washcloths over and cleans every one up while Peter aggressively snuggles Stiles, to which the human complains loudly but burrows into.

Chris settles on the other side, trails a hand along the front of Stiles' dress and looks up at Peter. “I'm not sure purple is his color.”

Peter hums a moment then chuckles in Stiles' ear. “I think we need to see him in every color to make a decision.”

Chris slides his hand along Stiles' satin covered abdomen, then nods. “Possibly matching underwear.”

“Oh definitely,” Peter purrs against Stiles' neck. “I really think what that dress needs is purple lace beneath.”

Stiles shifts and groans as his body starts to take an interest in the discussion.

“So you guys are really okay with....this?” He gestures to himself, amber eyes wide and vulnerable.

“Absolutely,” Chris promises, and Peter whispers his agreement against the younger man's neck.

Stiles finally relaxes and pulls Chris close, kissing him softly as Peter wraps his arms around both his humans. “Good, because I have a few other things...”


	50. Chrisaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: the ica stones + chrisaac

“Chris, I  _really_ don't like it here.”

Isaac is wolfed out, facing down a giant alligator-chicken thing, while Chris brandishes a crude bow and arrow at it, because he's long since run out of bullets.

“Eh, it's not so bad.” Chris makes a perfect shot right into the thing's eye, and its whole head flings back as it cries in distress.

“Fuck, I think...that was a baby?” Isaac wonders.

Three earth shaking thuds later, another chicken-lizard, five times the size of the one Chris had blinded, is staring them down.

“Yeah, Mama doesn't look too happy, does she?”

Isaac clings to Chris' coat, and the hunter has just enough time to experience a flash of sardonic amusement that he, the fragile human, is protecting the supernatural self-healing creature.

And then the thing charges, and Isaac throws him to the side.

Right into a tree.

-

Chris wakes up to a pounding headache, and the smell of smoke. His brain goes into alarm mode, _CO2 poisoning, fire_ , before he feels the cold on his forehead, and then he thinks _injury, hunting_.

“Hey, you okay?” comes Isaac's worried voice, and that's when Chris recalls.

_Those damned stones._

“Yeah,” he manages to rasp out, struggling to pull himself into a sitting position. “Wh' happened to the chicken-thing?”

“Dinosaur,” Isaac corrects, “we've gone back in time to the pre-human world.”

“Fucking hell,” Chris breathes, the information slotting into place, making perfect sense.

“Close enough,” Isaac says while chewing, and Chris blinks as the scene comes blearily into view.

Isaac's sitting at a fire, eating. They're in a cave of sorts, and there's a large shell of some sort next to him, full of water.

“How long was I out?”

Isaac winces. “Best I can tell, nearly a day. Uh, sorry about that.”

“You killed the...” Chris can't really think the word.

Isaac doesn't seem to have that trouble. “Dinosaur? Yep. Went down easy, actually. Was smart, but I'm smarter.” He flashes a grin. “With better weapons.” Isaac seems almost feral, flaring his laws, blood spattered across his clothing.

Chris feels a brief, sudden tug of desire, and his groan is audible as he lays back down.

“You okay?” Isaac scrambles to his side.

“Yeah, I've had concussions before. Just need rest and water.”

“We've got plenty, cave is near a river.”

Chris opens one eye to look up into those sapphire blues. “How did you know to do all this?”

“Malia,” Isaac nods before returning to his meal. “She told me how she survived, how a save should smell, you know.” He thinks for a minute. “Well, except for the fire thing. Couldn't bring myself to eat it raw. Fortunately, you had a lighter on you.”

Isaac flips it towards Chris, who catches it automatically, and studies it thoughtfully. “That really...very impressive Isaac.”

The blonde lifts his head and flashes an angelic smile at the hunter. “I know.”

-

They've been living with the dinosaurs for two weeks when the inevitable happens. They're alone, and lonely and when they “huddle together for warmth”, it's not because the temperature is dropping.

Isaac's got his head resting over Chris' heart, sleeping peacefully. And then he starts whimpering, caught in the throes of a nightmare, just like every night thus far.

Chris knows better than to try to wake him now, just hold him tightly and runs a hand through his hair, whispers that it's all going t be alright.

Eventually Isaac wakes with a gasp, and blindly turns his face up towards Chris', and the boy looks so lost and sweet and Chris feels such a surge of affection that he finds his lips pressed against Isaac's before he realizes it.

Both sets of blue eyes widen and Chris jerks back, already mumbling apologies, but Isaac pounces, literally, climbs on top of Chris and kisses him hungrily, dick already hard where it rubs against Chris and the older man groans into the beta's lips.

Then Isaac's tongue is pressing against the seam of his lips and Chris makes the split second decision to part them, to let Isaac in. He might regret it later, probably will, but right now they're the only two humans on the planet, and he needs the comfort.

Isaac's all eagerness and no technique, so Chris pulls him back a bit, rolls them over and takes control, and the golden-eyed beta relaxes, though clawed fingers still cling to Chris' shirt.

The hunter kisses Isaac expertly and thoroughly, large hand reaching down to palm at the bulge tenting Isaac's jeans, and for a moment, the shimmer around them seems to be an effect of their activities.

And then Chris realizes and jerks back, shifting so that he's laying backwards across Isaac, and the beta parts his lips, expression confused, and then he notices the weird bubble around them, and locks eyes with the older man as the dinosaur filled past fades, and Deaton's animal clinic sharpens around them.

By the time Derek assists him off of Isaac, the evidence of their activity had faded, and Isaac nods to Chris before letting Scott help him to his feet.

Deaton's got the carving covered stones each in a pair of forceps, and he's expositing at length to a rapt Stiles, and a very bored everyone else, about the possibility that these two stones – a matched set – would come to them by two separate routes and be brought in proximity, etc. etc.

Chris is silent, stoic as always, reality reasserting itself, and by the time Isaac's done with hugs and “glad you're back buddy” and the like, Chris is long since gone.

Isaac is more stubborn than that. He crawls right in through Chris' window that night, tugs his shirt off and climbs into the hunter's bed, ignoring the protests and then threats, and simply wraps around Chris and goes to sleep.

The hunter stares at the ceiling for a long time before he drifts off into sleep.

Isaac wakes him up with a soft kiss, and a breakfast tray, stacked with pancakes the boy made himself.

“I'm staying,” he declares, and then sits down in the chair next to the bed and dives into his own stack of pancakes.

Chris blinks at the food, then up at Isaac, and then shakes his head with a low chuckle and starts to eat.

 


	51. Scerek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: How about Scott/Derek with "Don't touch that! That's a condom." (a line from The Heat aka one of the funniest effin movies Ive ever seen.)
> 
> Warnings: References to Knotting

"Don’t touch that! That’s a condom."

Scott’s hand freezes and he retracts it slowly, tilting his head as he turns to look up at Derek. “Of course it’s a condom, well technically it’s a whole box of them.  Don’t you think we should have some on hand, y’know, just in case?”

Derek wrinkles up his nose. “No.”

Scott lets himself get tugged from that aisle and to the frozen dinner area, frowning in thought. “You don’t want to have sex with me?” They’d been heading towards that general area, at least he  _thought_  so.

Derek looks around, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Of  _course_  I do,” he hisses, opening the refrigerator door and shoveling frozen meals into their basket.

"Then why aren’t we picking up condoms?" Scott demands, arms crossed and eyeing the taller man.

"Do we have to talk about it here?" Derek hisses again, shushing Scott.

Scott ignores the crowd around them and fixes his boyfriend with a firm stare. Derek wilts and leans close to mutter. “I’mallergictothem.”

"You’re what?" Scott snorts. "How can a  _werewolf_  have an allergy?”

'It…happens,” Derek grumbles and then shakes his head and says under his breath. “They wouldn't fit over my knot anyway.” And then he grabs the cart and hurries to the checkout counter.

Scott blinks after him. “Your  _WHAT_?!”


	52. Chrisaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "If you had the chance to change your fate, would you?" Chrisaac

"If you had the chance to change your fate, would you?"

Isaac is prone to these moments of introspection, but they make Chris uncomfortable.  _You can’t change things, so why waste time thinking about it?_

Still, Isaac’s asked him a question and he deserves at least a brief moment of thought before Chris answers. The hunter leans back against the apple tree they’re sitting under, and cards his hand through the golden curls splayed across his lap as he thinks.

Isaac shifts and Chris looks down to see those incredible sapphire blues looking up at him and all he can do is shrug.

"I think I’d end up here in some fashion no matter what I tried to change. My fate or destiny or what have you….that was set when a werewolf killed my mother, when my father had to cut Kate from her dying body.  There’s been just a straight line, a direct path of the life of a hunter from there." Chris shrugs and looks up into the blue French sky.

Isaac sits up, moving to fold himself up into Chris’ lap, to press soft lips against the older man’s. “You’re not going to lose me,” he says determinedly, and Chris slides his arms around the blonde, holds him close.

He doesn’t dare hope for more, to think past planning for the next few months.  That’s not how the hunter’s life is led, and no matter how many times he’s tried to retire, tried to get out of the life, something reels him back in.

Chris knows he’s lucky to have lived as long as he has, and he has plenty of scars to show the many near misses and close shaves.  So, he’s content to just exist in the moment with this precious angel of a werewolf, the sweet boy that lies just beyond the prickly, sarcastic exterior.

He pushes all thoughts of fate, of destiny, of changing anything, pushes it all aside, and focuses on Isaac.  Chris lifts up and leans forward so that he’s got the younger man pinned down in the soft grass, and then kisses Isaac breathless while using fingers that are still nimble with a lockpick, to unfasten Isaac’s jeans and slide inside, to rut against the werewolf’s thigh and brings them both off right here in the orchard in broad daylight.

For the moment, life is good, and Chris clings to that as they lay entwined in the warm sunshine.


	53. Sherrish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Parrish/Sheriff or Petopher: "[S]He looks better than a 10-inch dick and you know it."

_"She looks better than a 10-inch dick and you know it."_

The voice blurts out loudly in the middle of what had been a very quiet police station, and Deputy Jordan Parrish jumps and scrambles to quiet his phone, which is now repeating the line over and over.

He looks up, face flushed, to see his boss,  _the Sheriff_ , standing in his office doorway, arms crossed with his lips pursed, but a hint of amusement in his gorgeous eyes.

"Not your typical ringtone," he says in that voice (that Jordan would never confess to wondering how it sounds in bed). "Might want to try putting it on vibrate next time."  And Jordan is absolutely, 100%  _not thinking about the older man and things that vibrate_ , and then he’s brought out of the reverie by the chime of his voicemail, and hurries to change the ring settings.

Jordan takes his break a few minutes early to listen to the voicemail, shaking his head with a sigh after listening to it.  The kid just won’t give up, and Jordan should have  _never_  let him program his number into the Deputy’s phone, because he also changed his ringtone, and  _damned if it didn’t change itself back every time he deleted it_.

He walks back in to see the Sheriff sliding his uniform shirt off, standing in his office in just a white undershirt, and it’s doing things to him that made him eternally grateful to be standing on the opposite side of the front counter.

"Spilled my coffee," the older man says with a rueful sigh as he opens a file drawer and pulls a clean shirt from the stack of them inside. Jordan manages something resembling a nod, and then scurries to his desk to sit down.

After the fourth time his phone goes off, thankfully on vibrate, but somehow no less annoying, he sighs and turns it off.  

"Got a problem?"

Jordan turns to look up at the Sheriff, and has a moment to think,  _this is how it would look if I were on my knees for him_ , and then he shakes his head.

"Just someone who won’t take no for an answer."

"What’s the question?" Those eyes look down at him concerned. "You got a stalker?"

Jordan’s cheek’s flush at the thought of the Sheriff being protective of him, and he has to look down and clear his throat, forcibly bring his mind back to the conversation.

"Something like that."

"You need anything, Parrish, you let me know." he rests a strong, heavy hand on the younger man’s shoulder and Jordan nods. "You’re like a son to me."

Jordan waits until the Sheriff’s door is closed, then rests his burning face on his folded arms. _Yeah, thanks. Daddy._

_-_

John chuckles as he watches Parrish through a slat in the blinds. 

He gives it a week before he has the younger man bent over his desk.


	54. Chrisaacson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chris/Isaac/Jackson. "I wish I knew how to quit you." (Brokeback Mountain)

 "I wish I knew how to quit you." Jackson whispers the line along with the movie on Chris' huge flat screen, and the hunter and Isaac meet eyes behind Jackson, and then Isaac curls his form into Jackson side, while Chris slings his arm across the blue-eyed beta's shoulders.

On a day trip to London, Isaac had run across Jackson's scent, and found the other werewolf living on the streets. He still wouldn't tell them what happened, but over the last few months here in Chris' family's home in the French countryside, he's stopped with the night tremors, but he still can't bear to be touched in any way that resembles sexually.  

Cuddling though, he can't get enough of, and he's much more emotional than either of them recall from Beacon Hills, but Chris thinks that this is the true Jackson.  The sneering jerk who had ruled his high school was just a facade that had been torn away by the real world.

It's to Isaac that he turns first, it always is, which Chris understands.  The hunter is certain that someone abused Jackson, and since they both know that Isaac had been there, it was only natural.  Neither of the boys knew about his own past, and he debated telling them frequently.

Chris leans back and watches as Jackson turns his head to look at Isaac, tentatively reaches out and cups the golden-eyed beta's cheek, runs his thumb across those sharp cheekbones. And then he starts to lean in, hesitates, then sets his jaw and mashes his lips against Isaac's in one fast motion, then recoils.  Which sends him straight into Chris' lap, and the hunter curls one arm loosely around the younger man's waist, looking up into Isaac's stunned blue eyes.

"Jacks?" Chris rumbles, a soft question, and the kid buries his face in Chris' neck, centers himself with the hunter's familiar scent.

"I don't want to be afraid anymore," he says into the older man's skin, and Chris shushes him while Isaac scoots closer, plasters himself against Chris' side, reaches out to clasp his hand in Jackson's.

"Take as long as you need, we're not going anywhere."

Jackson lifts watery eyes to Chris, and then Isaac. "Promise?"

Isaac throws his arms around them both and whispers for both of them. "Promise."


	55. Chrisaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chrisaac - "It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you." -Arctic Monkeys, Do I Wanna Know? <3

“It's not like anyone's going to kiss me,” Isaac laughs as he orders the extra onions on his chili dog.

 _I still would_ , comes the thought, unbidden, making Chris takes an actual, physical step back. _Where had that come from?_ He shakes his head and pushes it to the back of his mind, way in the far back where he keeps other things he doesn't want to think about.

But it's a sneaky, troublesome thought, it keeps sneaking out and popping up at extremely inappropriate times. Like when Isaac stalks back from a fight with some sort of reptile monster, and he's covered in slowly healing cuts and bruises, and his lower lip is swelled and puffy, and Chris feels the urge to shove him into the wall and kiss it all better.

Instead, he goes home, avoiding those wide innocent blue eyes, and buries himself in a bottle.

He begins to keeps track. Twice I wanted to kiss Isaac today, four times last Friday. Chris matches the urge, having a drink every time he thinks about those soft, plush lips.

And then it gets worse, maybe five times a day, watching him slurp spaghetti, or wraps those lips around a bottle of coke, and Chris finds that one day he just can't take it anymore.

“Wait, you're _leaving_? Why?”

“I got a thing, I need to go, I'll be back when I can.” And he's vague enough that he thinks his heartbeat doesn't betray him, and then he climbing in the SUV with a duffel and getting out of there before he can change his mind.

He drives six hours to a cabin deep in the woods of Oregon, sets up camp there, and for three days, Chris thinks he's got everything under control. He fishes, he hunts, he drinks himself to sleep in front of the fireplace.

And then there's a knock at the door.

A befuddled sleepy Chris opens it suspiciously, only to see Isaac standing there, almost sheepishly.

He blinks, and tries to wrap his mind around the golden beta being on his doorstep, but Isaac surges forward, cups the hunter's face and kisses Chris like his life depends on it.

For a minute Chris thinks he's dreaming, but this is all too real, and the slam of the door behind him as Isaac maneuvers them both is, bears testament to that.

Chris starts to protest as soon as his lips are freed but Isaac won't let him speak, just keeps distracting him with kisses. He tries to pry the wolf off of him, but Isaac uses his superior strength to keep himself glued to the older man.

It's not until they're laying flat out in the bed, Isaac nestled into Chris' side, that the wolf ceases the endless kissing, rests his head over Chris' heart and mumbles. “I missed you.”

And now that he's got the chance to speak, Chris can't think of whatever it was he wanted to say. And during his silence, Isaac drifts off into sleep.

Chris sighs in defeat and cards a hand through the golden curls. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'll do the right thing and send the boy away, back to find someone appropriate and not, well, Chris Argent.

But tonight, he thinks as he wraps his arms around the younger man, tonight, he'll let himself have this.

Just for tonight.


	56. Skittles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sciles - “I can tell that we are gonna be friends” - By the White Stripes

Stiles swears under his breath as he ducks through the crowd, trying to get to his eight am class on time for once. The prof gives him the evil eye every time he's late, which is pretty much every day, and yesterday the dude had even welcomed him with a, “Glad you deigned to join us, Mr. Stilinski.” And of course it had flustered Stiles enough that he'd tripped and dropped his folder, spewing papers everywhere.

Stiles ducks through what looks like a gap in the crowd, but somehow ends up with him running into someone, who shoves him back, and his arms windmill and his coffee goes flying. And then he finds himself supporting by a pair of strong arms, one of which reaches out to pluck his coffee from the air.

Stiles looks up into a pair of warm brown eyes and a smile full of sunshine and his heart skips a beat.

He opens his mouth to say something, and then can't think of anything, closes it with a snap.

The guy is still smiling as he sets Stiles on his feet and hands him his coffee.

“You okay, dude?”

Stiles just nods open mouthed, and the guy pats him on the shoulder. “Gonna be late for class?”

Oh fuck, he is. Without another word, Stiles spins on his heel and takes off for the room, skates in just as the professor walks in, but he manages to avoid getting a comment on his punctuality so he thinks he can call it a win.

It's not until he picks up his coffee and takes a sip that he realizes that he didn't even thank the guy.

-

Stiles isn't obsessive. He _isn't_. He just likes to know things. So he considers looking through the photos of all 6oo some people in the freshman class to be a logical step to finding the guy. Just to say thanks, of course, not because he spends way too much time thinking about that smile. Honestly, he's been way more obsessive about crushes, _not that this is a crush_ , it's nothing like his fascination with Lydia Martin.

At least not yet.

Stiles strikes gold when he runs across a picture of the lacrosse team.

“Scott McCall.”

-

He might _accidentally_ be wandering past the lacrosse practice field, which is out past campus, so he had to pretend to walk to the sotre and the plan got very involved but hey it worked, because that was definitely McCall on the back of that guy's jersey.

Stiles stops to watch a minute and nearly falls over where he's standing when Scott whips off his jersey after practice, and he gets an eyeful of sweaty, tanned skin and rippling muscles.

“Jesus, fuck,” he whispers, and somehow the guy must hear him, because Scott McCall turns around and looks right at him.

And then elbows the guys next to him, who turns to look at Stiles as well. He stares at them for a long minute, then remembers himself and lifts his hand to wave.

The dude next to Scott shrugs and trots away, tugging his own jersey off and dear lord was everyone on the lacrosse team cut like that? Stiles is thinking maybe he's about to become a lacrosse enthusiast.

And then his eyes fly open wide, because just as Stiles is going to leave, Scott McCall starts jogging over to him.

Scott comes right up to Stiles and pulls him into an enthusiastic hug, and Stiles has pretty much died and gone to heaven because his hands are sliding along slippery, sweaty back muscles and it's the hottest thing that's _ever_ happened to him.

“You can't leave until I get your number okay?” Stiles just nods dumbly, usual nervous chatter briefly overwhelmed, until he sees the other guy drinking and watches the long line of his throat a minute.

“Is everyone here this hot because I'm really not sure I can handle much more.”

Scott follows his gaze and his eyes seem to flash red a minute? and then he's back to smiles and warmth, and Stiles thinks maybe he's overcome by everything that's happened in the last few minutes.

“Derek!” The guy looks up and comes over, dark eyes boring into Stiles' soul, and Stiles shrinks back a bit. “This is the kid I was telling you about.” Then he turns to Stiles. “Oh hey, I didn't get your name!”

“It's, uh, Stiles. Y'know because my last name is Stilinski and my first name is totally unpronouceable and you really don't care because you just need to know it's Stiles.”

“Stiles,” Scott beams, and Derek rolls his eyes.

“If that's what you want.”

Stiles arches a brow and turns to look at Scott in confusion, who just pulls him into another hug, and Stiles thinks for a second that Scott sniffs his neck? but then Scott pulls back and looks right into Stiles' eyes.

“He is.”


	57. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: dark!Stiles
> 
> Warnings; dark!Stiles, abuse

Stiles is standing in front of a kneeling, naked Peter Hale, with a leather belt folded in his hands. It’s the only thing he needs to keep the former Alpha in his place. Eichen House had done just what he thought it would, had broken the wolf until he’s nothing but smoke and ash.

“Up.” Stiles snaps, and Peter immediately obeys, Stiles stalking closer, reaching out a finger to trail along the valley between the beta’s glorious pecs. “It wasn’t Derek or Scott who put you in Eichen House, Peter.” He watches those blue eyes closely, looking for any hint of the snarling fighter that used to exist. “It was me. I forged all the signatures, and used your own money to pay for it.” Stiles smirks, and solid black slowly rolls across his eyes. “It was me who got into Meredith’s head, who gave her all those delicious ideas straight from your mind.”

He waits for Peter to snap at him, for the older man to say that they killed the nogitsune, that they sent the Void straight back to hell, but there’s nothing just a blankness.

Stiles shrugs and steps back. “And now you belong to me, Peter. No one else cares about you. You’re going to be my pet, my fuck toy, and my whipping boy. Is that clear?”

Peter doesn’t say anything, so Stiles pulls his arm back and slices the belt across Peter’s face as hard as he can. “Answer me,” he hisses as the welt immediately raises and then starts to heal.

“Yes, sir,” Peter says emotionlessly.

“There’s my good boy,” Stiles croons and pets Peter’s hair. “My good little pup.”


	58. Scerek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Scott/Derek: "He tossed my salad like his name Romaine"

Scott McCall, stage name Wolf, is up there in nothing but a pair of pink briefs, shining in the spotlight, and commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Everyone but Derek Hale. He's watching the door, crosses his arms and scowls at a guy who looks like he might be trouble, makes sure he notes where the guy is sitting. Another guy, obviously a newbie comes in, mouth gaping open as he sees Scott up there, rotating his hips and pointing into the crowd. Derek rolls his eyes and deliberately steps into the man's line of sight to make him move from the doorway. Scott rolls offstage to thunderous applause as Boyd comes up to give Derek his break.

“You're late,” he says with a low growl and Boyd gives him an apologetic shrug. “Erica.”

Derek huffs but nods and slips from his post, grabs a coffee for him, and a Mountain Dew for Scott, and makes his way into the back. He has to stop and break up yet another argument between Stiles and Isaac, ducking flying makeup as he does so. If those two weren't the biggest draw, he was sure Cora and Lydia would have tossed them out ages ago. But on stage, they're dynamic, all long limbs and grace in perfect synch. Derek doesn't know how they do it.

Finally he gets to Scott's door and knocks, but immediately lets himself in, because Scott has his music up loud, and he's bouncing around in a pair of gym shorts and singing.

Scott stops and grins when he sees Derek, makes grabby hands for the Dew, and drinks half of it before he gets around to greeting Derek properly.

Which in Scott's case, means jumping into Derek's arms and wrapping his legs around the bigger man's waist while mashing his lips to Derek's. As always, the bouncer flushes and tries to tell Scott that _they're at work, it's against the rules_.

Scott just smiles, all sunshine and devil-may-care. “It just so happens, I have an in with the bosslady's big brother.”

Derek starts to object again, but Scott just kisses him until he's completely forgotten when he wanted to say, and then unwraps his legs and tugs Derek over to the couch. Scott straddles the older man's lap, grinds down against him as he murmurs in Derek's ear.

“I was thinking about you on stage, thinking about that chair being your lap, about making you sit on your hands and not move while I fucked myself on your cock.”

Derek moans softly and finally reaches out to wrap his hands around Scott's waist, to hold the smaller man down and roll his hips upward.

“How many more dances tonight?” he rumbles as he watches Scott's hands tug at his zipper, shudders as his dick springs free, and bites his lip when Scott reaches for the bottle on the table.

“Just two baby,” Scott whispers as he tugs the waistband of his shorts down, wraps his hands around the both of them. Derek moves Scott forward so that their cocks are sliding through his hands. “And then I'm free for three whole days.”

“I'm going to pin you to the bed,” Derek mumbles as he fucks through the tunnel of Scott's hands, “and I'm going to fuck you so hard that you can't _walk_ , let alone dance.”

Scott comes right then, with a soft punched out gasp, but Derek takes a few more thrusts, and Scott talks him through it, pure filth coming from his lips until Derek's spilling hot over his hands. Scott leans in and rests his forehead against Derek's and takes a deep breath. Before he can say anything, there's a slow clap from the doorway, and they both look up, wide eyed, to see Lydia standing in the doorway.

“That was a very nice show, gentlemen, but I believe you both are on the clock.” She glares at them, but then winks. “I'll distract Cora for five minutes, and then your asses better be back where they belong.”

Derek's face is a bright red and Scott can't help kissing him again. “Two more dances and then I'm all yours.”


	59. Jackson/Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jackson/Derek with "wow, fantastic baby"

“Shh, there you go baby,” Derek strokes a claw lightly along Jackson's spine, causing the younger man to curve up, to press backwards into the two thick fingers splitting him open. He whimpers softly as Derek pulls his fingers apart, stretches that tight hole, wriggles again. “Hold still, I got you.”

Jackson shivers and ducks his head, burying it in the sheets as Derek twists his fingers around, teasing lightly around the rim, and then shoves them back in. Jackson moves an arm accidentally and then freezes as the chain clinks warningly.

Derek seems not to notice, and Jackson relaxes briefly until he feels the slap across his flank, the supernatural force of his Alpha leaving a handprint shaped bruise on the creamy white skin.

“I told you not to move, sweetheart,” Derek says softly and Jackson locks his arms back into place above his head.

His control is severely tested as clawed hands curl around the globes of his ass and pull it apart, and he feels the rough scraps of stubble across the soft skin, and then the hot breath of his Alpha right before the wet heat of a long tongue flickers across the furled muscle.

Jackson makes a muffled noise into the gag, into the bedcovers, trying to be quiet, but the feeling of Derek's tongue is almost more than he can handle.

The claws tighten and Jackson can feel the stings as they pierce into his flesh, and his cock jerks beneath him, tugging at the chain linking the ring around it to the ones in his nipples, and he trembles beneath Derek.

“You're doing so well for me,” Derek purrs, breath caressing the spit slick muscle, causing it to flutter with need. “Look at how well you're controlling yourself now, pup.”

And he is, for all that he's whimpering and needy, there's no sign of claw or fang, and maybe his eyes are glowing bright blue, but he's got them closed and buried in the sheets that are suffused with his Alpha's scent.

The claws do come out when Derek slides just the fat head of his cock into Jackson, and he is forced to take several deep breaths, but he still whines when Derek pulls away, runs a thumb over the needy hole, chuckles low as Jackson pushes back into it.

“Still, baby, be still.” And it seems like it goes on _forever_ , Derek just giving him the tip and then pulling out to tease with fingers, and Jackson is a shaking needy mess, and the bed is wet beneath him where his cock has been leaking by the time Derek finally has pity on his bet, and at last fills him full, rocks his hips against the boys plush ass and drapes himself over Jackson's back.

“There you go, baby, that's what you needed.”

His hands caress down Jackson's sides, and then beneath, curling a hand around the base of Jackson's cock as he slides the ring free, curls it into his palm and tugs a little so that the chains pull at the beta's nipples again.

Only then does he start fucking Jackson in earnest, with each slam tugging at those chains, and the only thing holding Jackson back is sheer willpower. His fangs bite into the gag, and the claws curled into his palm draw blood.

As that coppery scent fills the air, Derek shifts as well, praise devolving into animalistic grunts as he takes his pleasure, slurring out an order for Jackson to come as he yanks at the chains attached to Jackson's nipple rings. The Alpha roars as he slams into the shuddering form beneath him, claiming and marking inside and out, pulsing his hot come within and scraping claws down Jackson's sides.

He bites down hard on the back of Jackson's neck as the swelling starts, ruts back and forth a couple of times before it locks him in place and Derek rumbles in pleasure as he flicks the chains off his beta, and tugs the limp form into his embrace.

“So good for me, sweetheart,” he lisps, and then rests his chin atop Jackson's head and closes his eyes contentedly.


	60. Sherrishale

"Sheriff, I’m going to need you to meet me at the Preserve." Jordan is proud that his voice doesn’t waver, anxiety racheting up a notch as he waits for the older man’s affirmative. He takes a deep breath when he receives it, clicks the radio away, and then quickly strips from his deputy uniform, tugging on his army fatigues.  Well, at least the pants and boots, he knows his torso is his best feature and he really hopes that he’s read the Sheriff correctly.

Derek’s on border patrol, and he’s just come from the West end of the Preserve when he sees the Deputy get out of his car, starts to step from behind the bushes to greet him, when Jordan starts taking his clothes off.  And he should really leave, but Derek is rooted to the spot, eyes pulsing a faint blue as he watches.  His question of what the Deputy is doing is answered by the Sheriff’s cruiser pulling up, and he takes a step back, mind swimming with the possibilities.

"Jordan, son, you alright?" The Sheriff says, eyes raking over the expanse of revealed skin, searching for injuries, and absolutely, on no account admiring the play of muscles as the deputy moves.

Jordan takes a step closer, not answering, waiting for the older man to clue in to why Jordan called him out here, but he seems to be oblivious. He reaches out to cup his hands over where John’s coat is pulled together to hide his zipper, and the Sheriff takes a step back once he realizes, blue eyes flying open wide. “Deputy,” he barks, but Jordan’s felt his reaction, knows he affected the Sheriff, and so he falls to his knees, reaches for the older man’s belt.

 

"I’ve wanted you for a long time, John," he says, and the Sheriff is frozen because that  _can’t_  be true, who would want  _him_? He’s so struck by the statement that he’s not even paying attention to the younger man until the wet heat of Jordan’s mouth is wrapped around his cock, and he can’t help a little rock forward, because it’s been  _so long_. And Jordan is so enthusiastic, just fucking his mouth sloppily onto John’s cock, he wants so badly to please the Sheriff.

And then there’s a noise in the underbrush, a rustle of bushes, and John snaps his head to the side to look, sees the faint glow of blue eyes before they’re covered. He’s pretty sure he knows who’s out there. Peter would have interrupted them already. 

"Derek?"

Jordan flicks his eyes up and starts to pull back, but John curls his hand in the deputy’s hair and encourages him to keep going.  John barely manages a steady tone to his voice as Derek sheepishly steps through into the clearing, and the thick line of his dick is obvious against his jeans.

"Come here, son," he says, voice like gravel as it thickens with what Jordan is doing. "You like watching?"

Derek nods, eyes darting to watch Jordan, the wolf licking his lips unconsciously.  But the Sheriff notices, looks down and tugs Jordan back a moment. taking a sec to admire the swollen, spit-slick lips.

"I think Derek wants to share with you."

He leaves it open ended, gives Jordan the option of refusing, because John’s not sure what’s going through anyone’s head here, but he wants whatever this is to be safe for everyone.

Jordan licks his lips, reaches out and tugs Derek down to his knees, and the beat goes so easily, pliantly leaning into Jordan’s kiss, letting the deputy lick his way into Derek’s mouth, and kissing him back eagerly.

Jordan whispers into his ear, and Derek nods, and then the both of them look at John, and his dick twitches as the reach for him, leaning in to slide both their tongues along his cock. He’s not even sure of the mechanics of it, because all he can do is hang on to his grasp in their hair as those hot tongue and mouths move over him. Until he’s jerking and shuddering, pulsing out hot stripes of come, which his boys chase and lick off each other and him.

 _His boys_.

John takes a few deep breaths as he tucks himself away and looks at the two of them, still on their knees for him.

"My house.  _Now_.”


	61. Boyd/Mason

"Nice shot, Liam!" Mason cheers with the crowd, and then settles back down, glancing to the side of the bleachers when he sees someone standing next to him.

"You enjoying the game?" he says conversationally, looking up at the guy. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at Mason. The freshman furrows a brow and tilts his head, he’s wondering if there’s something wrong with him. "Hey," he says in a softer voice, "What’s your name?"

The guy doesn’t even act like he notices Mason talking to him.  _Maybe he can’t hear_ , Mason thinks, and reaches out to settle his hand on the taller boy’s shoulder.

"Hey," he tries again as the face swivels towards him, and then further, to look at the hand on his shoulder. "What’s your name?"

 

"You’re touching me," the guy says, and his voice is deep and thrums with something that Mason can’t quite place, but which attracts him.

He snatches his hand back. “Sorry, man, you weren’t listening to me, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He extends his hand. “I’m Mason.”

The guy lifts his hand and curls it around Mason’s tentatively, as if he’s afraid he’s going to hurt the smaller boy.

"Boyd," he says quietly. "My friends call me Boyd."

Mason smiles encouragingly. “It’s nice to meet you, Boyd.” He squeezes the hand still holding his.  They both seem reluctant to let go, Boyd’s staring at their intertwined hands intently.

"Are you alright, Boyd?" Mason says as he hops down from the bleachers, once Boyd finally lets go. And has to crane his neck up, because the guy is  _tall_ , at least six inches taller than him, if not more.

Boyd smiles for the first time, and Mason has just enough time to think it’s a gorgeous smile, before Boyd is tugging him close and wrapping his arms around the freshman. Mason has no idea what’s going on at this point, but it’s nice, and he’s staying put.

"Thank you, Mason," Boyd says gravely as he lets the smaller boy go, and Mason tilts his head in confusion, but nods.

"Sure thing, Boyd," he says, and then hears Lydia calling his name.

"Over here, Lyds." Mason waves her over and turns back to introduce her to Boyd, but he’s gone.

"Weird, there was a guy here I was going to introduce you to." Mason furrows a brow.

"I probably scared him off." Lydia shrugs. "I do that."

Mason rolls his eyes and lets her tugs him away, but he keeps thinking about Boyd, something about the guy just calls to Mason.

-

That night, Mason dreams about Boyd. 

"I was all alone until you saw me, Mason," he says as he pulls the younger boy into his arms again. "Everyone’s been ignoring me for years, seeing right through me."

Mason nods, cheek pressed against the strong chest, trying not to notice the way those incredible biceps flex as they hold onto him.

"I know how you feel, big guy," Mason smiles up at him, lifting his chin. "But you’re not alone any more."

Boys looks down into his eyes, and Mason’s heart skips a beat when he thinks Boyd is going to kiss him, but the the older boy steps back, cups Mason’s face and runs a thumb across his cheekbone.

-

Mason wakes up to his alarm screaming at him, and the smell of bacon frying. He’s quiet through breakfast, thinking about Boyd, quiet enough through his classes that Liam corners him at lunch and asks him what’s bothering him.

"You ever meet a guy named Boyd?" He asks his best friend.

Mason’s not anticipating the silence that descends as everybody but Malia stares at him.

"Uh, guys?" He looks around.

"Boyd was one of Derek’s betas." Stiles finally says. "He was killed."

The bell rings and they all go their separate ways, except Mason, who goes out to the lacrosse field.

Boyd is there.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were dead?" Mason hisses at him.

"I didn’t think we were at that stage in our relationship yet." Boyd grins a bit, and dammit the guy has  _dimples_ , it’s really not fair.

"I don’t understand any of this." Mason flops down onto the bleachers.

"Neither do I, squirt," Boyd chuckles, "but the sun’s out and I’m not alone, and I don’t care about anything else right now."  He reaches out and tugs Mason under his arm, and the freshman heaves a sigh but nestles in.  He’ll worry about the rest of it tomorrow.


	62. Chrisaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: not wearing that

"You are _not_ wearing that."

Chris looks down at himself, then lifts an arched brow to Isaac, who's standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Yes, I am,” he says decisively and then reaches for a flannel. But Chris can feel the judgy weight of Isaac's eyes on him and he sighs internally. “There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing.”

Chris was going for certitude, but it comes out peevish and maybe slightly defensive. He may be somewhat anxious about going on his first date since, well, a long time. And a blind date at that, some friend of the Sheriff's.

Isaac's silence is loud, very loud, and Chris turns around and crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at the boy. Well, young man.

Isaac's filled out in the last few years, a man grown now, really. Funny that he seems to have done it when Chris wasn't looking.

He doesn't know how long they're just standing there with their arms crossed at each other, when Isaac huffs and rolls his eyes.

“There's at least two rips and three suspicious stains on those jeans.”

Chris looks down and shrugs. “Not suspicious. Blood, ichor, and grease.” Ah the life of a Hunter.

“That shirt has seen better days.”

Chris rests a hand over the neckline which may or may not be fraying. “It's comfortable. Besides, the flannel covers it.”

“And the flannel is just so very 1990.” Isaac's advanced a step each time he critiqued Chris' outfit, and now he's standing a little too close, oddly intense eyes looking over Chris in a way he's not sure he's entirely comfortable with.

Chris purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “You don't even remember 1990.”

Isaac rolls his eyes again and turns away from Chris and heads to the older man's closet. “You have such a great body, it's a damn shame to hide it under all those layers.”

Isaac's head is buried, voice muffled through the closet door, and so Chris can tell himself that he doesn't blush at the compliment, the like of which he hasn't heard (possibly) since 1990.

A significant portion of Chris' favorite things end up on the floor, and the pants and shirt Isaac come out with make Chris groan. “Those don't fit, they're both too tight.”

“No, you wear your clothes too loose. Now, c'mon, put these on.”

Chris grumbles and does so, stomping back into the room to let Isaac look him over. Personally, he thinks he looks ridiculous, like he's playing pretend, but there's a heat in Isaac's eyes that he doesn't think he's imagining, and the kid – man – gives a low whistle.

“Oh, yes,” Isaac says, approval clear in his voice. “You look...” Isaac trails off, dark eyes raking up Chris' body, the latter feeling oddly vulnerable in that gaze. “..it's good. Really good.”

Isaac nods enthusiastically to emphasize his words, then grabs a bottle he must have retrieved from his room, because Chris has never seen it before, and suddenly, Chris is sitting down and Isaac is putting some of that crap in his hair and doing strange things to it. Chris closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the peaked nipples staring him in the face, can avoid thinking about doing _things_ to them.

Chris tells himself it's just anxiety about the date, but he feels a hell of a lot calmer once he's out the door, all dolled up like he's somebody he's not. He doesn't think too hard about it, that never ends well.

The woman is nice, but her blonds curls remind him of someone else, and her eyes are the wrong color, and she's...not Isaac.

They part amicably, but without any suggestion of a second date, and Chris goes to the bar and drinks away the angelic face that won't stop swimming in his vision. He doesn't return home until Isaac should be long abed, wanting to avoid seeing him right now.

Stumbling into his room, he sits heavily on the bed and starts a battle with his boots to get them off his feet. Isaac comes from nowhere to help and Chris has to blink a few times to make sure it's the real deal and not a hallucination.

“I'm guessing it didn't go well,” Isaac murmurs.

“She was wrong,” Chris states baldly. “Wrong everything.”

“Mmhmm,” Isaac responds as he tucks Chris into bed.

“Everything wrong,” Chris repeats, eyes closed and voice slurred. “Goes t' show how damaged 've always been. Wantin' damn kid. Stupid.” He takes a deep breath and gives a half-snore.

Isaac's halfway to the door when Chris speaks again, something so low that only a werewolf could have heard it.

“Isaac,” Chris breathes, “Don't go.”

He freezes at the doorway, weighing his options, but he may never get the chance again, and so he slips into bed behind Chris, wraps his arms around the older man, and listens to him fall asleep.

-

When Chris wakes up, he's really warm, unusual for him, a lifetime habit of kicking off his blankets has always given him a chilly wake-up. He blearily opens his eyes , looking down for his covers, and then sees the arm draped across his waist. He half-turns to see unrepentant blue eyes staring at him.

“Good morning,” Isaac says quietly, waiting for Chris to do something, to say something.

“What did I do?” Chris finally asks, after trying to force his muddled mind to think of a way to ask the question that he has to.

“You asked me to stay with you.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nope.” Isaac shakes his head, one ringlet falling into his eye, and Chris is brushing it away before he can stop himself. He snatches his arm back and glares at his hand briefly like it's personally betrayed him, and then he takes a deep breath.

“Well, that's a relief,” he murmurs. “At least I didn't do _that_ to you.”

“And what if I _wanted_ you to...do that?” Isaac asks, eyes intent on the older man's face, noticing that Chris has made no move to tug himself from Isaac's embrace.

Chris snorts. “You have at least five better options that I can think of. I'm an old man, for one, beat up and damaged.” _Very damaged._

“Not better,” Isaac says softly. “Never _better_.”

Chris finally turns to look Isaac in the eye. “You can't – ”

“I _can_ ,” Isaac interrupts and leans in to kiss Chris before he can second-guess himself.

Chris is a man of iron will and absolute self-control. Isaac destroys it all like it's tissue paper.

He dives into kissing Isaac, flipping them both and pinning the younger man, just debauching his mouth until Isaac is dazed and his lips are puffy and reddened. Then he moves down with an ignited hunger that he hasn't felt in a long time, desperate to get his lips on every part of Isaac's body, kissing and licking along that pale, perfect stomach, sliding Isaac's leaking dick into his mouth and pinning the younger man's hips down while he sucks him off.

And then Chris devotes himself to tonguing that furled muscle below, delving deep and sliding across, until Isaac's hard again, sobbing and pleading in his need. Only then does Chris wrap his hand around himself, slicking up with assistance from a hastily located bottle, and then pressing slowly into the man laid out before him, beautiful in his ecstasy.

And he tells Isaac so, over and over, how amazing and beautiful and wonderful he is, and when Chris finally comes, fills Isaac with his seed, when his hand lifts to finish his partner off a second time, he sees a crystal tear sliding down Isaac's cheek. Chris lifts his thumb to brush it away, whispers while they're still joined, “You okay, baby,” and Isaac flashes that smile, the true one he has, wide and angelic and he says, “I've never been more okay in my entire life.”


	63. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: How about some didn't-realize-we-were-dating style fic where they get a clue from the Sheriff when he does NOT actually threaten to take a shotgun to Peter when there's a compromising position to be found?

“Stiles, I – ” The door flies open and the Sheriff steps in, and then his face blanches as he sees all the skin on display. “ – will be out. Gone. Until morning, at least.”

He steps back out quickly, slamming the door shut behind him, and Stiles hears him speak into his phone. “ _Hey, Chris, that couch still free for the night?_ ”

Stiles looks away from the door and down at the werewolf he has pinned to his bed, eyes wide. “Did that just – ” The honey amber eyes narrow. “Why didn't you hear him coming?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “I was a little _busy_ , Stiles.”

Stiles shifts backward a bit, and Peter lets out a tiny gasp of over-stimulation, and Stiles looks down. “Did you – ”

Peter narrows his eyes up at Stiles. “Shut up, Stiles.”

Stiles leans forward again, rolling his hips, his cock – which had lost some of it hardness – thickening back up inside Peter as he moves, and crows, “you totally have an exhibitionist kink!”

Peter lifts his hands and slides his thumbs across Stiles pert, tight nipples, a smirk twisting up his lips. “I can't believe that surprises you.”

Stiles leans down and kisses Peter messily, biting down hard at the wolf's lower lip, but it's not until Peter cruelly pinches both of Stiles' nipples at the same time that Stiles comes, spilling inside his wolf and then collapsing down on top of him.

Peter waits until Stiles starts snoring and then places the lightest of kisses to the top of the younger man's head. He slides out from underneath Stiles and goes to take a shower, absently noting that he's almost out of his body wash.

Werewolves are very particular about scent and Peter is more finicky than most. He takes enough showers here that he keeps his own supplies.

When he's done, Peter heads downstairs and gets out the salad that Stiles had made for him earlier, tosses one of Stiles' frozen pizzas in the oven.

He sits down and clicks on the DVR, starts watching one of his shows that Stiles records for him – and then freezes, pausing it and staring at the screen, eyes wide.

He's still that way when Stiles comes down the stairs a half hour later, yawning, hair still wet from the shower.

“Did you – ” he says, peering into the oven, “Oh, perfect.” He slides the pizza out and settle it on the stove, makes himself a plate and settles down next to Peter, leans against his side and steals the remote.

“What are we watching tonight?”

Peter turns to look at Stiles, blinks slowly. “Your father walked in on us.”

“Yeah, I was there,” Stiles says, then takes a huge bite of pizza, masticates it thoughtfully. “Must have scarred him for life because he didn't even threaten bodily harm.”

“I have shampoo and body wash here.”

“Uh huhhh...” Stiles eyes Peter strangely. “It was easier than bringing them back and forth from the loft? Did you get whammied or something?”

“I have food here. My favorite shows are saved on your DVR.”

Stiles is starting to get worried now. “Yes, Peter,” he says, resting his hand on the wolf's forehead to check for fever or something.

“Your dad – the _Sheriff_ – didn't try to shoot me.”

“Maybe he really liked that beer you gave him for his birthday and he was giving you a freebie?”

Peter turns to face the blue screen of the tv abruptly. “I buy your father birthday presents.”

Stiles furrows a brow and silently repeats what Peter's said. There's something –

“Oh my God, dude, we're totally _dating_.” Stiles bounces a bit in his seat. “Like absolutely domesticated, dad doesn't care if we have sex, living in the same house, mother fucking _dating_.”

“Yes,” Peter says softly, “that.”

“Well, then,” Stiles reaches for the remote and clicks the tv off. “This calls for some celebration sex. Come on, boyfriend, lets go see if dating sex is better than no-strings-attached-but-we-do-everything-together sex.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Peter mutters, but rises and flings the younger man over his shoulder – still eating his piece of pizza – and carries him back upstairs.


	64. Pisaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: back alley blowjob (based off of [this pic](http://goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com/post/107137006271/x) from Ian's Instagram

Isaac Lahey is one of photographer Peter Hale's favorite models to work with. He can do anything from innocent angel to flirty twink to streetwise waif. Which is their current assignment, and so Peter has Isaac in this back alley in the city, just taking some prelim shots of the area, more scouting for a good location than really focusing on the pictures themselves.

He takes a few of the alley, of Isaac wandering around, then a few of the model poking at an ancient soda machine. And then Isaac bends over to get his can of pop out because - against all logic - the machine actually  _works_.  

Peter can hardly resist taking a couple shots of Isaac's ass (not for publication), and as Isaac turn around to show off his prize, he catches Peter in the act of doing so.

The Isaac of a few years ago might have blushed, or even been pissed at Peter, but he's been around long enough now to know that Peter only wastes shots on things he thinks are worthwhile.  And so he saunters up to the photographer, heat in those deceptively innocent eyes, and looks down at the older man.

"Looking at my ass turn you on, old man?" he teases, and Peter arches a brow to cut Isaac back down to size, but the boy's hand is suddenly at his crotch and yeah, well, maybe he  _had_  been thickening up a bit.  Isaac is beautiful after all. But he's not about to outmaneuvered by this, this child half his age, so Peter grabs the hand with one smooth, practiced move, and twists it up behind Isaac's back.

"I may be old enough to be your father," Peter growls, "but don't you think for a second that I don't have plenty of better options than some boy who's never had a dick in his mouth."

Isaac flushes and squirms, so Peter lets him go, but he's not prepared for Isaac's next move, which is to fall onto his knees and reach for Peter's zipper.  He's even more unprepared for the way Isaac swallows him down, deep-throating like a champ, proving to the older man that he does, indeed, have a fair amount of experience in this particular act.

Peter can't resist lifting up his camera, catching shots of Isaac's face buried in his crotch, of the boy kitten-licking his slit, of Isaac's blonde curls forcefully gripped in his hand as Peter slides the blunt head of his cock along the seam of Isaac's lips. Of the glazed eyes and flushed face along with swollen, spit-slick lips before Peter's coming, thick ropes of white splattering across Isaac's face.

Peter gets a picture of that too.


	65. Peucalion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Peter/Deucalion. Maybe like a fancy dinner party or opera? Like maybe they accidentally end up at the same performance and it's really bad so they skip the second act to...talk ;D

Peter finally, _finally_ , gets to slide from the Hale box and make his way into the lobby, at last can retreat from the caterwauling that's pretending to be opera, and rest his beleaguered ears. He brushes an imaginary spot from his lapel before he reaches for a glass of the champagne that the attendants are passing out to those gathered in the socializing area.

Maybe if he drinks enough, the second half will be palatable.

“I've heard better songs from cats in heat,” a man says, rather crudely, as he reaches in for a flute from the servant nearest Peter.

“I cannot deny your point, though I may have phrased it a bit more politely,” Peter agrees with an incline of his head.

The man chuckles. “My apologies, I've been out of proper company a while. Deucalion,” he says, extending a white-gloved hand, in which Peter slides his own.

“An unusual name,” Peter remarks, “Peter.”

Deucalion inclines his head at the comment but makes no further move to explain it. Rather, he engages Peter in a thorough discussion of the merits of Melchior and Caruso, and whether Melba (an Australian soprano) could ever have the depth of the German born Lehmann.

Their discussion is engaging enough that neither notice the area emptying, or the other poor souls returning to their seats, until the doors have been locked, and the lights dim.

“Oh dear,” says Deucalion, “It seems we've been prevented from seeing the second act.”

“That is a shame,” returns Peter and then glances out to the cold of the New York street. “I believe we shall be forced out into this bitter night.”

“Perhaps a medicinal dose of wine at the end will make up for the rudeness of winter?” Deucalion invites Peter, and the younger man can think of no reason why not. He slides his arm into the other's, and off the head, down the street, hunched and huddled against the winter wind.

-

Some time later finds the duo snugly ensconced in Deucalion's richly appointed study, mulled wine warming their stomachs, while brilliant conversation sparkled between them. Peter had thought to find New York brittle and ugly – for as such it had been billed to him by his much elder sister – and instead finds it welcoming and to his taste, perhaps predicated upon the present company's delightful introduction.

Currently they are throwing obscure quotations at each other, well-learned prose warring with alcohol-dulled capacities.

“A Grecian lad, as I hear tell. One that many loved in vain,” Deucalion declaims, lifting his glass in such a way that leaves Peter no doubt as to the compliment – as well as the lightly teasing nature of such – and he finds his tongue spilling forth a secret that he'd rather have remained hidden yet a while longer.

“More Ganymede than Narcissus,” he finds himself saying, and then something within him seizes up in horror, fearing the worst of his new-found companion. But Peter has misjudged the older gentleman, who simply settles his wine down and rises.

“Shall I become an eagle, that I might carry you away?”

Peter cannot help but laugh as he also rises, tilting his head in a way both inviting and challenging. “You dare to speak of my pride and then cast yourself in the role of Zeus!”

“I dare much,” Deucalion says, stepping closer, close enough that he can slide his hand around the back of Peter's neck and squeeze it firmly. “I would dare everything, should you let me.”

Flushed with wine and the admiring gaze of a fellow gentleman and intellectual, Peter eagerly agrees, meeting Deucalion's lips halfway, then parting eagerly for the older man's tongue. Peter may be younger, but this much he has done before, in the darkness of boarding school dormitories and hidden corners of the forest.

Soon, however, Deucalion must take the lead, as they venture into uncharted territory, that of which Peter hopes to revisit again. Frequently. He discovers many new things that night, quickly and eagerly soaking in the lessons on pleasure that Deucalion imparts. Peter learns that there's very little he doesn't enjoy, even to the less than gentle open handed blows that Deucalion insists on laying across Peter's backside, and the vernacular filth that tumbles from the older man's lips as he takes his pleasure inside Peter, giving the boy an education in derogatory terms as well.

By the time Peter arrives at his own decently appointed apartment the next midday, he's thoroughly debauched and much wiser as to the ways of love in its carnal incarnation, and eagerly looking forward to the next visit to the opera house, where – Deucalion has assured him – there are many ways to pass the time through a less than optimal performance, that he would quite enjoy.


	66. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jailbreak AU

“ _Where_  do you think you’re going?”

Stiles jumps and drops the tool box he’s carrying, wincing at the clatter as metal objects spill everywhere.

“Dad. Hey, hi. Daddy. How ya doing? You should be asleep.  Being up this late isn’t good for you.  I’m just headed to Scott’s. Just typical teenage hanging out. Nothing to see here. Goodnight.”

He scoops the tools into the box as he talks, then turns on his heel and walks briskly towards the door.

But her’s not quick enough, because a large hand is clamped around his neck and his dad’s voice growls in his ear. “I  _don’t_  think so.”

Stiles sighs as flops down in the kitchen chair, arms and legs akimbo as his dad crosses his arms and glares down at him.

The silence stretches.

The Sheriff knows his son all too well. Stiles can only take the silence for so long before he has to fill it.  

Like a dam, the words overflow, and Stiles confesses that he’s heading to break Peter out of Eichen House.

“Look, I know, he’s kind of an evil dude, but what they’re doing to him, Dad.  No one should have their mind messed with…” Stiles trails off as he recalls his own time trapped in his head, paling faintly with the memory.  “Locked up, yes.  That…no.”

The Sheriff frowns.  “Therapy is not the same as what happened to you, Stiles.”

Stiles opens his mouth and then looks up at his dad.  Then he looks back down at the table. “There’s no therapy at Eichen, dad,” he whispers, knowing the guilt hid dad is about to feel for his part in putting Stiles there. “There’s no help.  It’s a supernatural prison, without due process, and where they freely experiment on the inmates.”

The Sheriff takes a step back. “What?”

“I’ll tell you the whole story later, dad.” Stiles looks up, eyes wide and pleading. “Will you help me?”

“I have a warrant to search these premises,” the Sheriff bellows as he pounds on the front door. “Open up.”

Somehow he’s not surprised to find Alan Deaton behind that door.

“Sheriff? There must be some mistake.”

“Yours,” the Sheriff growls as he shoves the paper at Alan. “You missed a judge when you bought them all off.”

The Sheriff is followed by teams of heavily armored men, all carrying Argent-provided weaponry.

“This is a mistake, Sheriff,” he warns. “These creatures are  _dangerous_.”

“From where I’m standing, veterinarian,” the Sheriff glowers.  “You’re the most dangerous creature around.” He steps forward, head tilted. “I do hope you weren’t hiding anything in your clinic.  It’s been raided as well.”

Alan’s eyes somehow grow very, very cold. “You will live to regret this, Sheriff.”

-

Peter sniffs the air, eyes unfocused, head shaky. “Stiles?”

“Yeah, creeper-wolf, it’s me.  We’re busting you outta this joint.”

“Terrible lines,” Peter slurs as he’s helped to his feet, leaning heavily on Stiles’ surprisingly broad shoulders.

“Even high as kite, you can still insult me,” Stiles snorts.  “I’m impressed.”

Stiles manages to get Peter outside in the chaos of the police raid, where Derek and Scott are waiting. Scott rests his hand on the side of Peter’s face, eyes glowing red. “I’m sorry, Peter.  I didn’t know.”

“Need to protect my family,” Peter mumbles, on the verge of unconsciousness.

Scott looks at Derek, who manages a tight-lipped smile. “Some things never change.”

Scott and Derek hoist Peter, who turns his bright blue gaze on Stiles before his eyes slide shut. Stiles watches until they disappear into the trees, then turns on his heel and casually wanders up to his dad, giving him a nod.

Marin has joined her brother by now, and the Sheriff ends up taking them both away in cuffs.  Deaton watches Stiles the whole time, eyes knowing.

“He’ll never thank you,” Alan says before he’s pushed into the police cruiser.

-

Turns out, Deaton’s wrong.

Scott calls Stiles out to a cabin in the middle of nowhere, where they’ve got Peter hidden away. Peter’s still on a light dose of drugs – Scott isn’t stupid – but he’s much clearer than he was before.  Scott informs Stiles not to make any sudden movements or loud noises.  It’s very clear that Peter’s suffering from PTSD from whatever they did to him in there. Open flames are also a problem, and Derek thinks they forced him to relive the fire.

“Derek tells me it was your idea to get me out of there, Stiles,” Peter says from his blanket-wrapped cocoon in the easy chair. “Thank you.”

“I know what it’s like in there,” Stiles shrugs. “Not even you should have to go through that.”

Peter snorts softly, glancing up at Scott. “Some might disagree.”

Scott shrugs. “Anyone who thinks that torture is okay, even for bad people, is kind of a bad person.”

Peter sighs. “Even on drugs, you’re still incredibly annoying.”

Stiles can’t help but laugh at that. “He’s like Captain America with a crooked jaw.”

Peter lifts those cerulean eyes up to Stiles. “At any rate,” he says grudgingly, “I owe you a favor.”

Stiles starts to say no, then has an idea, and leans forward, voice intense. “Here’s my favor, Peter Hale.  Don’t ever try to kill Scott again.”

Peter closes his eyes a moment. “He’s a good person, Stiles.  But he’s a terrible Alpha. He’s failing to protect the Hale territory.”

“Listen Peter,” Stiles’ gaze is intense. “I could not care less about the Hale territory. It’s  _nothing_.  It doesn’t matter.   _Only people matter_.”

“A life for a life,” Peter murmurs, tilting his head to stare at Stiles. “Done.”

Stiles leans back, satisfied.

“With one condition,” Peter says, with a faint smirk.

Stiles shakes his head. “How did I know you’d have an angle?”

“I want you to become Scott’s Emissary.  I will teach you the spells.”

Stiles arches both brows. “How do you know them?”

Peter leans back.  “I was supposed to be Talia’s Emissary. The first human born to the pack is always the Alpha’s Emissary.”

“I thought Deaton was her Emissary…” Scott frowns in thought.

“I thought you were a born wolf like me,” Derek mutters.

“It’s a long story,” Peter says to them before turning back to Stiles. “Do we have a deal?”

Stiles looks at Scott, who nods.  He turns back to Peter. “Deal.”


	67. Skittles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ‘I was walking by the roller coasters and SOMEONE’S SHOE FLEW OFF AND HIT ME IN THE HEAD” AU

One second Stiles is walking along, minding his own business, planning the exact way he’s going to beat one particular carnival game… And the next, he’s flat on his back in the mud, staring at the sky in confusion.  _It’s really quite lovely today_ , he thinks, his normally raucous mind very still, and focused on the sheer blueness. He can’t quite seem to recall why he’s lying here.

Suddenly there are people in his face, scores of foggy visages, and he waves his hands at them, trying to get them to go away.  

Suddenly he’s floating, drifting through the air, flying up into the sky.  Stiles raises his arms to touch the sky, but feels a soft warm resistance.  He turns his head slightly to see a pair of warm brown eyes and a soft smile looking down at him.  And then the world starts spinning, and Stiles pukes all over his rescuer.

-

“Hey,” says a voice softly from the door. “How ya feeling?”

“Like someone kicked me in the head,” Stiles teases, eyes opening to see his second most frequent visitor.

“You are never going to let that go are you?”  Scott McCall flashes that bright smile as he settles onto the stool next to Stiles’ hospital bed.

“Dude, you gave me a concussion!”

“Not on purpose!”

“How does someone even  _lose_  a shoe?” Stiles complains. “And who wears steel toe boots to the fair?”

“I had just got off work,” Scott explains yet again, “and they were bothering me so I loosened the laces.” He sets something on Stiles’ stomach.

The repeated rant is cut off by the gesture and Stiles peers down at the stuffed wolf. “You can’t buy my silence with presents,” he scoffs, and adds the plushie to the pile of other gifts that Scott has brought him.

“How about with this?” Scott says, pulling a greasy bag out from where he’d set it on the floor.

Stiles eyes go comically wide. “Dude, are those curly fries?”

Scott grins. “One condition though.”

Stiles makes with the grabby hands. “Anything, dude, just gimme the fries.”

Scott hands them over. “You have to go on a date with me.”

Stiles chokes on the fistful of curly fries he’s just shoved in his mouth. “Are you serious? This is some kind of Stockholm Syndrome or something. Maybe I got hit harder than I thought. What if – ”

“Stiles,” Scott interrupts. “Yes or no.”

Stiles glares up at him. “Fine.”

Scott nods. “Good.”

-

Stiles is sent home the next day.  That Friday, Scott takes him putt-putt golfing, to a movie, and then pins him up against his own door and kisses him soundly.

Stiles closes the door after he gets inside, leans against it and blinks dreamily a few times.

“Well,” says his dad from the kitchen. “How did it go?”

“Thank goodness for steel-toed boots.”


	68. Skittles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "See? I can totally pull off lace underwear. You owe me five bucks,"

 

Stiles just  _stares_ as Scott turns in place, and sure he’d  _jokingly_ bet that lace would look goofy on the werewolf after finishing off a six-pack, but he had not expected  _this_. He shuts his mouth with a snap, after realizing that it had been hanging open, and then licks his lips.  Stiles clears his throat, but his voice still comes out rougher than it usually does.

“Yeah, uh, I see that, dude.”

And sure, he’d seen Scott in boxers, but this - this was so fucking different. It was obscene, is what it was, Scott’s cock barely being held in place by the red lace, and Stiles could not stop  _staring_.

“Stiles…?” Scott’s voice deepened slightly as he stepped closer, and Stiles reluctantly tears his gaze away from Scott’s crotch.

“Would it be weird if I…” Stiles hand lifts, almost of it’s own accord and reaches out hesitantly.

“No, dude,” Scott breathes, “it’s cool.”

Stiles’ thumb brushes along the rapidly thickening line of Scott’s dick, gently at first, and then a bit firmer.  “You look…” Stiles swallows hard. “ _Gorgeous_.”

“Yeah?” Scott beams and then tilts his head, soft brown eyes looking down at Stiles. “Why don’t you show me how much you like them…"


	69. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: And then they were gone... All of them; without a single goodbye.

Peter steps up behind Stiles and rests a hand on his shoulder, looking along the row of graves that they’ve just finished filling.  The virus had swept through the town, hell, the country so fast that millions were dead within an eyeblink.

They two were the only ones to have survived it, this horrible disease that struck humans and weres alike, and they had no idea how.

Stiles’ eyes are red, but he’s long since cried himself out.  Peter, well, Peter mourned Derek in private.  No one else warranted his tears.

Stiles turns and buries his face in the crook of Peter’s neck, as the wolf slides an arm around the druid’s shoulders.  This night, they would drink and tell stories of their dead, and then tomorrow, they were leaving this place forever.


	70. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Phantom of the Opera AU

Lydia performs flawlessly at the gala, and Stiles is  _enchanted_ , recalling his adoration of her when they were young together. Only, he’s not the only one so moved, and Lydia finds herself kidnapped by a mysterious masked man, known only as Peter. Lydia, being the spitfire that she is, gets in a few good blows that succeed in knocking his mask off, revealing the burn scars that map his face.

Lydia escapes, complaining bitterly to Stiles later that evening about Peter, and he decides to do something about this masked menace.  Only Peter manages to capture him, and holds Stiles as his prisoner, sending Lydia a message that if she agrees to marry him, he will let Stiles go free.  Lydia strings him along with half-promises for two long weeks, in which Stiles asks Peter a steady stream of questions, which the masked man ignores. Mostly. (Also in which she engages in a fling with her understudy, Allison.)

Somehow Stiles manages to tease his love of music out of him, and Stiles realizes that it was the beauty of her voice that made them both swoon over Lydia. He’s quiet for a time, considering the possibilities, and he begins to watch Peter,  _really_ watch him.  Stiles notes the fine clothing he wears, and the elegant way he eats, and eventually begins to suspect that this is the thought-to-be-lost scion of the powerful hale family, that perished in the Great Fire years ago.

So Stiles takes a gamble, and he sings a song for Peter, the first time the Phantom has heard him sing, an old hymn that’s been attributed to a Hale of years past, a hymn that the family learns before they can talk. Peter freezes in the act of pacing, and turns his masked face upward, revealing the brief glitter of hidden tears.

He lowers his head, and unlocks the door of Stiles’ cage, growls that the other man is free to go, and then wraps himself in his voluminous cloak in his chair by the fire.  But Stiles does not leave.  He boldly walks up to the Phantom and gently pulls the mask free, runs his thumb along the scars. Peter shies back at first, then lifts up his face to look at the younger man.

Stiles leans forward to bestow a soft kiss upon the mottled brow.  Peter weeps silently as the man walks away. 

Two years later, a simple advertisement runs in the midst of the classified: Peter is dead.

Stiles wears a gold ring on a chain around his neck for the rest of his life.


	71. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Steter - I’m a barista and you’re the obnoxious customer who comes through and orders a venti macchiato while talking on the phone the whole time so I misspell your name in increasingly creative ways every day AU

Stiles Stilinski grinds his teeth as Hottie McAsshole wanders in the door, yapping away on his phone as always, never even  _looking_  at the barista as he snaps out his order and his name, swipes his card without pausing in his conversation, and walks to the side to wait.

Yesterday, he’d written the guy’s name in Greek, the day before that with the Cyrillic alphabet.  He never looks twice at it, and Stiles has been deliberately  messing up his name for two weeks now.

Today he goes for broke, uses the Japanese characters he’d painstakingly practiced.

 _Nothing_.

Stiles sighs as he watches that perfect ass walk back out the door.

-

Stiles locks up and then heads out the back door.  Another day in his exciting life as a post-grad do nothing over.  He’s rewriting his resume in his mind, and he doens’t notice when a dark shape detaches itself from the wall to follow him.

“You learned how to write Asshole in Japanese?” comes the voice flatly, and Stiles jumps, steps sideways on the curb, wrenches his ankle and goes down hard.  He blinks up at the pavement, and then into the face of the guy he only knows as Peter.

“Ow.”

Peter looks unconcerned, even a bit amused. “Bit jumpy, there, Stiles.”

“How do you know my name?” He demands as he pushes up into a seated position, wincing at the twinges of pain from his ankle and head.

Peter wordlessly points to the nametag on his uniform.

“You’re a real asshole,” Stiles grumbles, then emits an undignified squeak as Peter easily lifts Stiles in his arms.

“Apparently.  It was written on my coffee today.”

Stiles automatically wraps his arms around Peter’s neck and then blinks. “You read Japanese?”

“Nope,” Peter says, popping the ‘p’, “I work at an international finance firm.  My boss is from Japan.” Peter starts walking. “He was amused.”

Stiles beams a little, then looks around. “Um, where are you taking me?”

“My apartment,” Peter says, smirking slowly down at Stiles. “To play doctor.”


	72. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Steter in Kindergarten

Stiles furrows his brow as he looks over his class list, walks from the mailroom and taps lightly on the principal’s door.

“Ally, I think there’s some sort of typo.  I got five kinders with the last names Hale on this list.”

“No typo,” she says, with a soft chuckle, pulling off her glasses and looking up at Stiles. “You have Trey Hale, who’s father is local, and two sets of twins - his cousins - Rachelle and Miguel, Brody and Cody.” She picks up a sheet of paper and hands it to him.  “Glad you stopped in, nearly forgot to let you know that Scott will be with you for a while, evaluating Rachelle and Miguel, as English is not their first language.” She flashed her bright smile.  “Enjoy!” 

Allison waves cheerfully as Stiles shakes head and heads back to his kindergarten classroom, muttering to himself.

The Hale… pack, for lack of a better word …is a study in contrasts. Trey is obviously way ahead of the others academically - he carefully and neatly writes his full name, and easily reads the books Stiles gives him, but he’s not the leader of the group.  That honor goes to Rachelle, the only girl, and she bosses the others in English  _and_ Spanish - which they all seem to understand fairly fluently. Her twin, Miguel, doesn’t speak at all that day, just glares at  _everything_. 

The other set of twins seem deceptively normal, except for that fact that neither of them can sit still for a moment. One of them has blue eyes, the other green - Stiles is still not sure which is which.

It’s one of the most exhausting first days of kindergarten he can ever remember having.

And then Trey’s dad walks in, looking like he stepped right out of a fashion magazine. “Peter Hale,” he says, his voice somehow making that seem like a filthy promise.

“Stiles Stilinski,” he says, shaking the older man’s hand.

“ _Stiles_?” Peter asks incredulously.

“Nickname,” Stiles flashes a smile, as the hyper-twins throw themselves at their uncle.

“Uncle Peter can we go for ice cream?” one says.

“Or McDonalds?” the other pleads.

“Cook will make us a nice healthy snack when we get home,” Trey says archly, coming from the coatroom all ready to go.

Rachelle pushes past the clinging twins and begins talking to her uncle in a rapidfire patter in her native tongue, and he answers in the same language briefly. She drags Cody and Brody back with her to the coatroom.

“Five of ‘em, huh?” Stiles says, shaking his head, watching the kids get ready, “That is quite a challenge.”

“We get by,” Peter shrugs, and then tilts his head slightly, eyes going unfocused for a minute.  His gaze sweeps the room, and then he brushes past Stiles to head for the beanbag area, tugs two aside, to reveal Miguel curled up beneath them.

Peter scoops him up, still curled into himself, and the other four line up behind him like ducklings, Rachelle in the lead, and Trey behind the twin boys.

“Brody has the blue eyes,” Peter says as he sweeps past, winking one of his own gorgeous blue eyes before he departs, his little clan in his wake.

Stiles totally doesn’t check out his ass as he leaves.  That would be unprofessional.


	73. Steter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains S5 spoilers.

It takes Stiles two days to notice. 

He’s in the middle of History, half-listening to Mr. Yukimura when an errant thought about what Peter’d have to say on the topic drifts across his mind.

And that’s when he realizes that Peter had been nowhere in sight during the visit to Eichen House. 

He dashes off a quick text to Scott, and then waits impatiently for the response. Nothing by the end of class, and Stiles dashes to Scott’s locker, pacing until he sees the Alpha and his girlfriend coming down the hallway.

“Dude, why do you never answer my texts?!”

Scott blinks and digs in his pocket for his phone, furrows a brow as he reads the message, and then tilts his head as he looks back up at Stiles. 

“How should I know where Peter is?”

“Dude,” Stiles vibrates a bit, “He’s supposed to be at Eichen but he wasn’t!”

Scott shrugs. “I really think we got bigger problems right now.”

But Stiles can’t let it go.  He has to  _know_.  

So he manages to get himself back into Eichen with some convenient break and entering (by virtue of someone’s ID he’d thoughtfully swiped during his last visit).

He checks every cell in the supernatural wing - seeing some things he really wishes he could scrub from his brain - but there’s no sign of Peter. That is, until he gets to the end of the hall, where Valack’s cell stands empty.

Stiles figures the guy must have been taken elsehwere, so he lets himself in, intent on poking around a bit.  A tiny, soft whine stops him in his tracks.  There’s only one place it could be coming from. 

Stiles gets on his hand and knees and peers under the bunk, and there he sees a dog - no, that’s definitely a wolf - pushed back into the corner in as tight a ball as it can get.

He knows right away.

“Peter?” he murmurs, extending a hand. “Peter, it’s me, Stiles.”

The animal makes a huffy, snorting sound, and now Stiles is certain.

“C:mon, we’re getting you out of here.”

The wolf lifts his head a bit and looks around.

“He’s not here, Peter, but I don’t know how long he’ll be gone.”

Peter whines again and doesn’t move. Stiles has to scoot partway under the bed and pull the incredibly heavy animal out in the harsh light of the cell. He gives a low whistle when he sees the state Peter is in.

“What the hell - ” he starts, then cuts himself off.  “Never mind, we’ll figure it out later.”  He rips the sheets from the bed and wraps them around Peter, who just  _looks_ at him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure it’s all very undignified but those wounds will leave a blood trail,” Stiles defends himself, and then darts from the cell.

Peter huffs and sits there looking ridiculous until the boy comes back with a laundry cart.  With some swearing and a few growls on Peter’s part, they manages to get him into the cart, and Stiles covers him with dirty laundry.

Peter sneezes twice.

“Drama queen,” Stiles accuses, then pushes the cart down the hallway to the elevator.  They have to avoid a guard once by ducking into a cell with something Stiles will never be able to forget, but it just watches them, and so he in turn doesn’t bother it.

It’s a quick jog from the elevator to the service one in the back, and they’re almost there when Stiles hears a voice yell, “Hey.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, flips his ID around backward so that the not-Stiles picture is hidden and affects a bored expression as he looks over his shoulder.

“Did you really think you were going to get away with this crap?” the very large orderly hollers.

“Uh,” Stiles responds intelligently.

“You skipped half of the third floor, you lazy piece of crap.”

Stiles remembers how to breathe. “Oh right, sorry.”

“You got an hour before the truck comes, have it done by then,” the dude threatens, and then stalks away.

“Just a little bit longer, Peter,” Stiles whispers, and then spends the next half-hour burying a very unhappy wolf with other people’s scents.

They’re both extremely on edge by the time he gets the cart outside, and Peter snarls at him when Stiles awkwardly lifts him into the back of Roscoe before putting the laundry cart where it’s supposed to be for pickup.

It’s not until he gets home with Peter that he realizes… He has absolutely no plan, and no idea what he’s going to do with Peter now.


	74. Stoyd

“Why did it have to be  _German_?” Stiles moans as his forehead hits the table.

“You should have done your schedule ahead of time,” Lydia says primly.

“I mean,” Stiles continues, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Who even speaks German any way?”

“Um, Germans?” Scott offers into the silence.

“I do,” says a deep voice, and Stiles lifts his head just in time to see Vernon Boyd drop a wink as he passes by. He watches Boyd stride across the room and sit down at an empty table, then narrows his eyes and starts to get up from the table.

“Uh oh,” Lydia murmurs.

“Sit down, dude,” Scott pleads.

Stiles is already halfway across the room, plopping himself in the chair across the table from Vernon.

“Soooo, you speak German, huh?” Stiles beams.

“Fifty bucks,” Boyd answers with a bright smile.

“Dude, that’s the price of a blow job,” Stiles sputters.

Vernon’s grin widens. “I’m open to barter.”


	75. Sherek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sheriff/Derek with “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

The Sheriff watches the progressions of emotions across Derek Hale’s face, surprise, denial, anger, and finally embarrassment. He finds himself wondering how far that blush goes down, because Derek’s whole _face_ is blushing, from under his collar all the way up to the tops of his ears. He finds himself thinking of lots of ways to redden Derek’s skin and may or may not get a little lost in that while Derek stares at him with his mouth a little open, obviously searching for something to say.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says gruffly and tries to push past the older man, obviously intending to run away and hide in the Preserve - his usual way of dealing with, well, everything.

John isn’t having it. He reaches out and grabs Derek’s bicep as the werewolf tries to leave.  Derek could break that grip without a thought, but he doesn’t, stops and waits for whatever the older man has to say, but the Sheriff can see him bracing himself for the verbal blows that he thinks are coming.

“Derek,” he says softly as he turns the werewolf, reaches his free hand up to lift Derek’s chin so he can look into the other mans’ eyes. “Stay.”

Derek furrows his brows like he can’t even understand, can’t process the single word that the Sheriff has said.  So John decides to show him. He steps forward, carefully so he doesn’t spook the fight or flight response, and presses his body against Derek’s.  John slides his hand from Derek’s chin to around the back of his neck, and pulls him into a kiss.  

Unlike his previous movements, this kiss is anything but gentle.  It’s hard and demanding, and - just as he had hoped - Derek opens up for him like a flower to the rain.  He submits beautifully to the Sheriff’s kiss, lets the older man claim his lips and tongue and by the time the kiss is done, when John pulls away gently, Derek is glassy eyed and clinging to the older man’s uniform.

“Stay,” he says again, reaching out to caress a thumb across Derek’s cheek bone, while he left hand snakes around Derek’s waist to support the werewolf. “Stay with me tonight, Derek.”

Derek is quiet for a moment, and then nods once.  It’s enough for the Sheriff, who leads him upstairs. He’s already wondering how far he can push werewolf endurance.


	76. Verson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Boyd/Mason and "Wanna dance?"

“Wanna dance.”

Mason and Liam’s conversation halts as they blinks at each other and then both slowly look up to the senior standing next to their table, arms crossed, glowering down at them.

“What?” Mason says after a long moment of silence where the three of them are just staring at each other.

“Want. To. Dance.” Vernon Boyd says again, enunciating each word like Mason hadn’t heard him, when he’s just in denial that he heard what he _thought_ he heard. Also, he apparently doesn’t know how to _ask_ a question because he manages to make those words sound vaguely threatening.

Mason cranes his neck to look around the bulk of the older boy, looking for a group of Boyd’s friends laughing or something. “Is this a dare? Or a prank? Or, like, is someone going to pants me on the dance floor, or-” He cuts off as his gaze returns to his table, and Liam is _gone_.

 “Dude, not cool,” he accuses Liam’s empty seat, which Vernon slips into. Mason stares at him.

“I thought you liked to dance,” Boyd says, a tiny quirk in his brow.

“I do love to dance, dude, but hot guys don’t just come up to me and ask me to dance for no reason.” He’s still looking around for the punchline. “Is there a camera somewhere?”

When he glances back to Vernon, the older boy is grinning.

“What?” he says suspiciously.

Boyd tucks his hands behind his head and his smile widens. “You think I’m hot.”

Mason is briefly - okay _thoroughly_ \- distracted by the size of Boyd’s biceps when he does that and spends way too long having to think about ice water instead of those arms around him.

Too late he realizes and shifts his eyes away. “Yeah, well, all you wolves are hot, it’s not fair, really.”

Vernon Boyd abruptly pushes out of Liam’s chair and comes over to Mason’s side of the table, grabs his hand and tugs the younger boy to his feet.

“We’re dancing,” he says and tugs a not-altogether-unwilling Mason to the dance floor.

Being wrapped in Boyd’s arms feels just as good as he thought it would, and Mason figures at least he’d have that to cling to when he was recovering from whatever prank they were pulling on him.

Vernon chuckles. “There’s no prank, man.”’

Mason blinks up at him. “Can werewolves read minds?”

“You were talking out loud,” Boyd says fondly, and then, as the song ends, he leans in and plants a kiss on the end of Mason’s nose.

“Thanks for the dance,” he says before vanishing into the crowd.

Mason somehow makes his way back to his table where he flops into his chair and tries not to pass out. He picks up the napkin at his place to mop his forehead, but stop when he sees the digits scribbled on it.

“Oh my god,” he says out loud, “This can’t be real.”


	77. Sceter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Scott/Peter - “You’re the only one I trust to do this.”
> 
> Tags: Non-Con, Hate Sex

“You’re the only one I trust to do this.”

Peter Hale slowly arches a brow. “Words I never thought I’d hear from the great Scott McCall.” He slinks around the Alpha in a circle, pacing, thinking. “Of course, you are asking me to murder for you, so you can keep your precious True Alpha claws clean, so I suppose I should have seen this coming.”

Peter comes to a stop in front of Scott, lips pursed, eyes searching the younger man’s face. “What’s in it for me?”

Scott’s eyes are hard as he stares Peter down. “What do you want?” he practically spits out.

Peter’s lips slowly curve in a smirk. “What if I said I wanted you?” he purrs as he steps closer.

Scott narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “Not a chance.”

Peter steps back and shrugs. “That’s the deal, let me know if you change your mind.”

Scott watches him leave with helpless fury. _Why can’t he just do what the right thing?_

-

“You have a deal.” 

“Speak up, Scott, you’re breaking up.” Peter just wants to hear him say it again.

“It’s a deal Peter, get rid of the Dread Doctors, and I will -” he can’t even say it, “You can have what you want.”

“Oh no, _Alpha_ ,” he smirks. “I get my reward first.”

“How do I know you’ll come through with your end of the…bargain?” Scott demands.

“You’ll just have to _trust_ me,” Peter mocks.

-

“Alright, do what you want,” Scott says, bravado hiding his nerves - or so he thinks - as he stands there in his naked Alpha perfection defensively.

“I want you,” Peter says as he walks around Scott, admiring his, well, everything, “to fuck me. _Alpha_.”

And that’s kind of the _opposite_ of what Scott was expecting, so he says nothing as Peter undresses somewhat ceremoniously - like the drama queen he is. 

Scott has to admit that Peter’s not exactly hard on the eyes, and as he drops to his knees and takes Scott into his mouth, he can’t help but admire the older man’s technique.  Peter’s obviously done this before.

It’s not long before Scott’s thrusting into Peter’s mouth, and there’s something heady about the way he’s submitting, calling Scott _Alpha constantly. A_ nd when he pulls off, Peter arches his neck in a way that sends all of Scott’s wolf senses alight.  He feels the needs to mark, to _claim_ , and before he knows it, he’s pushing Peter down to the floor, pulling his cheeks apart to eye the glistening hole.

“I got myself ready for you, _Alpha_ ,” Peter says, and Scott starts to push in, but Peter stops him.

“I thought this was what you wanted,” Scott growls, eyes glinting red.

“Condom,” Peter murmurs. “Less mess.”

“Oh, right,” Scott feels a brief flash of embarrassment, but when Peter rolls it on him, and demands, “ _Fuck me, Alpha_ ,” it’s forgotten.

He’s never been able to be with someone without holding back, so Scott lets it all go this time, fucks Peter as hard as he wants to, just slamming into him over and over, letting out a growling roar as he comes, filling the condom inside Peter with his come. 

Scott feels another wash of embarrassment as he sees Peter’s hand moving on his own cock, bringing himself to completion as Scott pulls gingerly out.  He’d never even thought to consider Peter, and the idea that he should have - after being blackmailed into this in the first place - makes him angry.

He tugs the condom off and ties it, tosses it into the can by the door. “You got what you wanted,” Scott says gruffly. “Now get rid of them.”

Peter carefully pushes himself up from the floor as Scott slams out his front door. He goes over to the trash basket and lifts the small latex balloon filled with the Alpha’s seed.

“Thank _you_ , Scott,” he says as he tucks it carefully away in a wooden box, spelled to carefully preserve what’s in it.


End file.
